Winter's Child
by VVSINGOFTHECROSS
Summary: Willam Stark marries Daena Targaryen and adopts her son Daemon as his, though Daemon is still legitimized by Aegon the Unworthy. Willam and Daena's own eldest son Daeron Stark, will stand by his brother and his family though thick and thin. For when Winter comes, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives, and Daeron is both a wolf and a dragon. karinfan123 for the idea and plot
1. Chapter 1

**Winter's Child**

Willam Stark, firstborn son of Cregan Stark, the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North was heading south to King's Landing to foster. His presence along with those of several other highborn children had been requested by King Aegon the third of his name, to serve as companions for his children Daeron, Baelor, Daena, Elena and Rhaena. It is the 150th year since Aegon the Conqueror's landing nineteen years after the Dance of Dragons tore the realm in half, though King Aegon along with his brother Prince Viserys has done much to restore peace to the realm, there are still divisions between the lords and their bannermen. Aegon means to end the distance put between the royal family and their wardens and so has asked all four of his wardens to send their first born children to foster in King's Landing.

Willam, when he was told that he would be going south to the capital had been very excited. It would be a way for him to explore more of Westeros outside of the North and plus he would be away from the stern eye of his father and mother. Not that he didn't love his parents and his siblings, it was just that he really wanted to meet more people, not just northerners, he wanted to meet the people from the south to see if the stories that Old Nan talked about really were true, whether the southerners really were just a bunch of statue worshipping ninnies or if they were something more. Plus he might also get to see dragons, those creatures that the Targaryens were so famous for.

His initial excitement had now turned to nervousness. The day had finally come for his departure, he would be heading south with ten men, all of them men he had grown up with in Winterfell. His father had spoken to him that morning, reminding him about what an honour it was that he was going down to King's Landing, and that he should remember that whilst he was there he was representing Winterfell and the North and their family, and that he should strive to make a good impression on the Royal Family. Willam had of course promised to do just that, and though he felt confident that he could make friends down south – he was not too shy after all- there was still a little bit of nerves floating around his stomach, he was from the north after all and he had heard rumours about what the southerners thought and said about the north.

His mother had spoken to him as well, before he had mounted his horse. His mother, whom he loved above all else, she had come to see him off with tears in her eyes, and a smile on her face. She had told him she loved him and that she knew he would make them all proud, Willam nodded and then as he hugged his mother tightly he prayed to the Old Gods that when he returned she would still be alive and well. Next he had said goodbye to his siblings. Artos, his oldest brother big even now at seven, Jeyne, his sweet sister with her dreams of songs and knights and then there was Beron, his baby brother the youngest of their pack at the age of three. He said goodbye to them all a lump in his throat throughout.

He turned round rather briefly, before he rode through the gates of Winterfell with his escort. He looked back at the castle that had been his home for all of his life till now, trying to memorise each and every detail of it, and all those who lived in it. Then he raised his hand in farewell and spurred Duty- his horse- onward and did not look back.

It took them a month to get to the capital. When they reached the Red Keep they were met by one of the members of the fabled Kingsguard, Ser Odrick Arryn, and brought to the throne room, where upon entering Willam found that there were five other children present and with them Willam guessed by the number of white cloaks present were the King's children. Ser Odrick announced his arrival to the room at large and soon all the hustle and bustle stopped as all eyes were turned to him. Swallowing nervously Willam stepped forward trying to stop him from shaking, and walked toward where the King sat on the Iron Throne. He stopped just in front of the steps leading to the Iron Throne and bowed, saying as he did so "Your Grace. I am Willam Stark, son of Cregan Stark Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North."

He kept his head bowed as he waited for the king to speak, and when the King did so his voice sounded oddly soft. "Rise Lord Willam. And come and meet your fellow children." Willam raised his head up and saw that a whole line of boys and girls were coming to greet him. A boy with the golden silver hair of the Targaryens and with their violet eyes stepped forward and shook Willam's hand, as Willam heard the King say. "My son Daeron," Daeron nodded at Willam and smiled slightly. Then he moved off and another boy who looked startlingly similar to Prince Daeron stepped forward and shook Willam's hand and he heard the King say."My youngest son Prince Baelor." Then Prince Baelor moved away and two more boys who looked similar to Prince Daeron and Prince Baelor, albeit slightly older looking stepped forward. And the King said. "My nephews Aegon and Aemon." They moved away and then four girls stepped forward and curtsied before Willam, and the king said. "My daughters Daena, Elena and Rhaena and my niece Naerys." Then they moved away and a big young lad with golden curls and green eyes and a cheeky smile stepped forward and shook Willam's hand. The king introduced him as "Damon Lannister." Another boy stepped forward with raven black hair and summer blue eyes and King Aegon introduced him as "Robar Baratheon." Then another boy stepped forward with fiery auburn hair – kissed by fire Willam thought briefly- the king introduced him as "Gregor Tully." Then a boy with brown hair and big brown eyes stepped forward and the king introduced him as "Steffon Arryn." Finally a boy with big broad shoulders and hair so pale it was almost white stepped forward and the king introduced him as "Quellon Greyjoy." Once the introductions were done the King left them all to get to know each other, and Willam felt the butterflies return.

* * *

As the days turned into weeks and then turned into years Willam Stark grew more comfortable in King's Landing. No longer did their strange accents and customs puzzle him. He learnt his lessons with the Grand Maester alongside his fellow wards and the princes and princesses, and when the Grand Maester was busy they were taught by Maester Marwyn. They learnt about the histories of the Seven Kingdoms and how to be good lords and kings and queens. And when they were not in lessons Willam spent time down in the practice yard along with the other boys practicing his sword fighting and his archery, though he quite liked fighting with a sword than with a bow, bows were for cowards he thought, though he didn't say that to Quellon, as the Ironborn was twice as big as Willam was even at their young age.

Willam developed friendships in King's Landing he became especially close with Prince Daeron, Prince Aemon and Steffon Arryn. The four of them would cause all kinds of havoc in the courtyard with their pranks and their japes, and they were a tightly knit group. Daeron and Willam especially grew close out of the four of them, and they exchanged jokes and told each other their deepest desires and told no one else only the two of them knew. So when King Aegon decreed that Prince Baelor should marry his sister Daena, following the Targaryen tradition, Daeron understood why Willam looked like he wanted to murder Baelor, even though he knew it was not the prince's fault. For you see over the years that Willam had come to spend in King's Landing, and when Baelor and Daena married he had been there for six years, he had come to truly have feelings for her. Not the sort of feelings that one had for a sister, but the sort of feelings Willam thought his father and mother had for one another. He wanted to marry Daena and start a family with her, he wanted to wake up beside her each every day, he wanted to kiss her all the time without worrying about being caught. He wanted her, and he wanted her badly, but he said nothing and remained quiet as he stood and watched Prince Baelor marry her.

It was after Prince Baelor and Daena's wedding that the raven came from Winterfell. Dark Wings Dark words were a common saying and this time the saying proved true. Willam's mother who had been unwell when he had left for King's Landing six years ago had passed away of a fever in the night some weeks past. He had prayed and prayed to the Old Gods that she would still be there when he came back home in three years time, but like so many things the gods did not listen and his mother was dead. It was Daena who found him, alone in the Red Keep a sword in his hand and tears in his eyes, and it was Daena who held him as he cried even more, for his mother, for his mother who was not like other mothers, for his mother who was gone and had left him behind when she had promised she would never leave him. And it was Daena who promised him that she would never leave him, that when Daeron became King she would beg him to dissolve her and Baelor's marriage so that the two of them could be together.

Willam keeps Daena to her word then, and when his father writes to him about accepting a marriage proposal for his hand, he writes back saying that he wishes to wait, he wants to write that he will only marry a dragon princess, but he knows his father would dismiss his word, and would arrange a match for him before Daeron ascends the throne, and so he merely writes that he would wait till he comes back to Winterfell. His father writes back that that is acceptable, and tells him of how Artos has married one of Lord Karstark's daughters and how an offer has come from Lord Bolton to wed his heir to Jeyne, Willam shivers when he reads that. The Boltons may not have rebelled against Winterfell since before Aegon the Dragon came to Westeros, but there is still something about the family that gives him the creeps, he knows his father would never seriously consider marrying Jeyne off to Lord Bolton's heir, Willam remembers the boy from when they were little and even then there was something wrong with him, from the letters he gets from Artos and Jeyne, the boy has only grown worse as the years have gone on. Though he does not tell his father this.

Then comes the day that Willam had both prayed for and felt guilty over thinking about. King Aegon III is found in his bed, having died in his sleep. A fortnight later Daeron is crowned and becomes, Daeron the Young Dragon. He names his uncle Viserys as Hand of the King and names Willam to the small council, as Master of Laws. Willam is surprised by this considering that he is no older than Daeron, and has little actually experience of court politics. But Daeron is insistent saying that he needs someone on the small council who will not just nod their head and go along with whatever he says, and he says that Willam and his uncle Viserys are the only people who will do that. Willam goes and speaks with Daeron then, and asks for him to set aside Baelor and Daena's marriage, and he can see from the look of sympathy in Daeron's eyes that his request is about to be rejected. Still it does sting when his friend, his best friend tells him that he cannot do that, that his uncle would simply have him marry Daena instead. Willam walks back to his rooms dejected and angry with his friend and with the Targaryens.

He is still angry when Prince Aegon marries Princess Naerys, and he sees the sorrow in Prince Aemon's eyes. He wonders what Aemon has to feel sorry about, he swore himself to celibacy earlier that year when he joined the Kingsguard. Willam looks across the Sept and catches Daena's eye, she still makes his heart beat quicken, and she flashes him a cheeky smile that makes him blush, Daeron nudges him in the ribs to stop him from smiling like a fool. Then Daeron marries Steffon Arryn's sister and the Arryns come to court. For a family renowned for their honour Willam notes that the Arryns – or atleast Steffon's father- seem content to sucking up to the king, and Willam spends half the feast exasperated with the Arryns and their blatant ass kissing, the other half he spends pushing Daena up against a wall in the dark shadows of the Red Keep kissing her until they are both breathless with pleasure. He has gone so long without kissing her that he does not even feel guilty for kissing another man's wife, for when that man is Prince Baelor, and when the Prince refuses to bed and even kiss his own wife, why should he feel guilty?

She smiles at him and then walks away straightening her dress as she re-enters the feast. The next day Daeron announces before the small council that he means to march on Dorne. His friend as often seen it as an insult that Dorne remains independent, and that so long as it did, the work of Aegon the Conqueror was unfinished. The ravens go out that same day calling the banners of the Kingdoms for war. Willam feels his heart beat heavy in his chest, as Daeron's best friend he will be riding with the King, but it still does not feel real, not even when the armies of Westeros have assembled 120,000 troops assembled in King's Landing, over the past three moons. The only time it feels like he is truly marching for war is the night before they are due to leave when he goes to say farewell to Daena and finds her not in her room, but in his bed, wearing nothing but a shift and no smallclothes. He tries to resist, but he is not as strong as he should be, and he beds her and kisses her as if doing so could keep him in King's Landing with her and not away to Dorne. She leaves in the dead of the night sneaking back to her own rooms, and he feels hollow inside.

* * *

The royal army of King's Landing marches three moons to the day that the ravens went out. 120,000 men march for Dorne to bring it into Westeros and make true of Daeron's title as King of all Seven Kingdoms. The Dornish put up a stiff resistance. The first battle of the campaign is in the Dornish Marches, where the royal army go up against the armies of House Manwoody, Dayne and Yronwood plus three companies of sellswords. The fighting is bloody. Willam leads the left for the battle, Daeron leading the main host and Prince Aemon leading the Vanguard. Willam leads the charge that breaks the Yronwood's flank. Willam wielding a longsword from the armoury in King's Landing swings, hacks and slashes his way through the Dornishmen in his path. He keeps hacking and slashing, cutting off an arm here, a head there, he cuts a man in half and then cuts a man from shoulder to leg and watches stuck to the spot as the man bleeds to the death.

Daeron slays Lord Manwoody, opening him from shoulder to foot. Aemon kills Lord Dayne piercing his throat with Dark Sister. Willam fights Lord Yronwood and wins though only after a bloody confrontation. Swinging their swords at each other like mad men, the sound of steel on steel, the screeching of it, the sparks flying it sounds like music to Willam. If music could be dark and perverted. Lord Yronwood swings his sword and Willam ducks. Willam swings his sword and Lord Yronwood moves to the left. They both swing their swords and the clanging of steel as it meets in the air resounds around the battlefield.

Lord Yronwood swings again, and this time Willam is not quick enough to block the swing and gasps as the sword cuts into his skin through his armour, opening up a fresh wound to go with his already sizeable amount. Willam manages to retaliate though. He manages through pure brute force to shove Yronwood's sword out of the way and gives himself enough time to thrust his longsword into the man's chest before pulling out again, blood following his sword on its way out.

Yronwood's answering blow nearly knocks Willam to his knees. The man maybe old but he is still strong, he slams his sword into Willam's sword with such force that Willam's grip falters and in that moment, Yronwood knocks Willam on his helm, denting it and impairing Willam's vision. Yronwood's next blow is a sword thrust through Willam's left rib, that pierces through his armour and punctures his ski, causing blood to flow out at an alarming rate. Willam falls to his knees then, seeing the end in sight. Yronwood lifts his sword up readying it to bring it down into a big arc to lop Willam in half, but he is slow to do the deed.

This gives Willam enough time even with blood pouring out of him like the water flows through the Blackwater, he struggles to lift his sword up, Yronwood's age really shows in this moment, for Willam knows that a younger, quicker foe would have realised what he was about to do and would have brought their sword down already to prevent him from doing anything of the sort, but Yronwood is not young and Willam thanks the gods that he is not. He lifts his sword up and then tries to lunge but ends up falling forwards, piercing through Yronwood's armour and piercing his skin inside, Willam leans so heavily on the sword that he thinks it may have pierced several valuable organs, and judging by the way the blood begins to pour out of Yronwood's mouth and stain Willam's sword all the way up to the hilt, he guesses he is right. Lord Yronwood dies with Willam's blade buried deep within him, Willam himself struggles to wrench himself and his sword free from the old man, and when he does he realises that the battle around them must have stopped for he can no longer hear the sounds of men fighting, dying or screaming. But he lifts the visor from his helm and sees that no he was wrong the battle still rages on.

He staggers up shouting for a maester, and when does eventually come he thinks he might faint from the amount of blood he has lost. As it turns out he does feint, but when he comes to it is to the sight of his friends gathered around him, talking quietly about the battle and what their next point of action should be. He remains quiet during the discussion but from what he hears, he gauges that they won though they sustained heavy losses. Robar's father died as did Steffon's. Both are now the Lord's Paramount and are both still boys, hells they're all green boys in this tent. He, Daeron, Robar, Steffon, Damon, Aemon, Aegon all green boys who've just had their first taste of war, and they're about to get some more.

A week later their march through the Prince's Pass goes largely unhindered, though there are a few bandits who try and raid their supply trains, they are easily dealt with by the soldiers, therefore allowing the commanders sometime to rest. Their next battle comes at the edge of the Prince's Pass when their army is nearing the end of the treacherous terrain and are between High Hermitage and Skyreach, more Dornish men and women come out and attack, except this time they attack at night and slip away once they are done. After the second night when they wake up to find sentries and other soldiers dead, killed at their post or in their beds, Daeron decides that the whole army shall be on alert and shall not rest till the Dornish force responsible are dead or captured.

The third night is when the real fighting starts. They come with low burning torches; Willam and the men have no fires burning, are only listening for the sound of heavy footfalls and at the first sign of them draw their weapons. It is tricky business this fighting in the dark, hacking and slashing at an enemy that you cannot see, often means that Willam gets more injuries than he deals. He keeps hacking and slashing though, and eventually figures out a pattern. The Dornish will follow the sand paths to attack and then take the sand trails back to their hide outs, in the morning after the third night Willam leads a small party and finds the Dornish base of power, he goes back and tells Daeron without being seen, and then that evening just before the sun sets, the armies of Westeros converge on the Dornish guerrillas. It is a massacre plain and simple. Willam swing his sword till it is covered in blood, the ground is covered with blood and is littered with bodies, Dornish bodies. He cuts off arms, legs, heads; he pierces throats, chests, ribs and shoulders. All done so that Daeron can conquer Dorne.

After resting for a few days the army marches further east, all the while patrols are kept at night and guards are kept on the supply train at all time, Daeron is not going to be taking any chances. The raids continue though, men are killed both Westerosi and Dornish, and the nightly guerrilla attacks continue as well, draining their man power severly, so that by the time they come to Hellholt, the army is close to starving and the morale is beginning to drain, and still Daeron insists on marching and fighting. At Hellholt they find 2000 Dornishmen armed and ready to fight, they also find the desert ready to drain their resources away, as it turns out they smash the forces gathered at Hellholt, but suffer severe losses as well taking the castle and winning the battle, they lose roughly half their men either to death in the battle or starvation as they march further on through the desert.

A rider finds them as they march close to the Vaith river, he comes bearing news from King's Landing, Daeron's wife died during labour, their daughter stillborn. Daeron buries his sorrow and his grief by fighting yet another battle, this time against 1000 Dornishmen and their guerrilla tactics. Tactics which cost them 20,000 men though they still win the battle. Eventually House Martell sends a rider to bring them to treat at Godsgrace, Daeron accepts and so the king, Willam, Steffon, Aemon, Aegon and Lord Tyrell ride with thirty men for Godsgrace, Robar having died during one of the battles, whether at Hellholt or at the Vaith Willam cannot remember.

The terms discussed are ones of peace, Willam is in such a daze shocked from the battles he has fought and plagued by nightmares that he does not remember much of what is said. All he knows is that when they ride back from Godsgrace to their army camped by the Vaith, Lord Tyrell does not ride with them as he has been left by Daeron to be the steward of Dorne and to rule for Daeron. They begin their journey back north two years to the day that they began preparing for the conquest. Daeron seems smug and cocky as they ride back, all Willam can do is hope and pray that this conquest lasts, and that there will be no more need for bloodshed, for a long time.

* * *

It is clear that as they march back for King's Landing that the Dornish people do not like them, they do not see Daeron as their king, they only see him as their conqueror, their slaver, Willam tries to point this out to Daeron, but his friend only laughs and tells him to lighten up. They are at Grassy Vale when Daeron begins writing his book on the Conquest. In typical Daeron style the book is written with extravagant flourish and the prose paints Daeron as a hero, he is in truth, especially if he can hold Dorne. The book is published and becomes an instant hit for the nobility to read, three years after they set out for Dorne. To Willam though life in the south does not seem as glamorous as it once did, before when he thought war was just a game. He has seen different now, he has seen men die, has killed men, he has watched his friends and his enemies bleed to death screaming for their mothers. No he no longer thinks of the south with as much fondness as he used, and that is something not even Daena can change, and he begins looking forward to the time he can return home, with his father beginning to go into ill health he will be needed in the north soon.

His departure is delayed infinitely when news comes to King's Landing of Lord Tyrell's death by scorpions. News of the Dornish revolts taking place across the whole of Dorne anger Daeron and the rest of his cousins, he calls the banners once more, though this time 40,000 men come instead of 120,000 and they ride south once more Willam a reluctant participant this time around.

The second time around, the Dornish do not fight them in open battle, they are not waiting for them in the Dornish Marches like they were three years ago. No they wait in the mountains covered by desert and sand, they wait and when the army crosses into the Prince's Pass they strike. Flinging boulders and rocks at the army, Willam manages to avoid the rocks that are thrown, but from the screams and shouts of the men behind him he knows there are hundreds- perhaps thousands- who are not so lucky. The barrage stops that night and they set up camp, Daeron weary due to attack in the morning has sentries and guards and patrols set up. They do no good. They wake up the next morning to find men dead, killed at their post beside the fire, in their beds, their heads mounted on spikes on the rocks and mountain side. The body of Ser Odrick Arryn of the Kingsguard is found two days later, his head smashed in with rocks, his armour taken, his body covered with scars and dried wounds, dead killed by poison Daeron says.

The destruction does not end there. Steffon dies next, an arrow to the chest in the night, the Dornish guerrilla's getting bolder and bolder. A massacre, men are found with swords thrust through their bellies and heads, arrows through their chests and arms and legs. Blood covers the camp; bodies litter the earth, and are burnt. Unmarked graves are made in the Prince's Pass, and Daeron rages.

Daeron's own death comes four days after that. They had stumbled upon a group of Dornishmen, the leaders of the resistance no doubt, planning their next move. Daeron had drawn Blackfyre and challenged them to a duel. There seven of them and five of us, Willam will remember later. Daeron, Aemon, Aegon, Gregor and Willam himself. Aemon killed two of them, Aegon one, Gregor one, Willam himself killed two, Daeron killed the leader but died later from his wounds. And as they were retreating back to camp they were set upon by a giant Dornish host, commanded by Prince Mors Martell.

They are taken to Skyreach and kept in cells there, for what seems like months until Prince Baelor, now King Baelor Willam supposes comes and treats with the Dornish Prince, he negotiates their release and they come back to King's Landing with Daeron's bones, his crown and the sword his wielded. Dorne remains independent and Willam seethes. They won their freedom through treachery and dishonest means, not through open battle like good honest men would.

* * *

Willam is there in the Sept when Baelor is formally named king and Daena Queen, though a few days later Baelor against the advise of his uncle and hand sets aside his marriage to Daena. That same night Daena comes to his room, and Willam still wallowing in grief and anger beds her, and he beds her again the next night and the night after that. It becomes a running joke that Aegon often throws at him when he sees him in passing. Willam lets it pass though, for five months after Baelor's coronation and Daeron's death and with Daena's urging he goes to Baelor and asks him for permission to marry Daena, Baelor refuses.

Not only does he refuse he calls Willam, "A Heathen, a savage, and not a man fit for a Princess of the Iron Throne or any Targaryen."

Willam seethes at the insult done to him and his family in front of the court and spits back. "Is this how it will be then? We grew up together Your Grace, we learnt how to be men, I served your brother loyally and I never once asked for a thing. And this one thing I ask for you would deny it to me?"

Baelor says nothing but remains still on the Iron Throne. "Very well then, I resign from the Small Council. I am done with this city and its politics. Good day and gods bless." Willam snarls and then stalks from the hall. He packs his things in a hurry, anger making him decided instantly what he needs and what he doesn't.

He almost doesn't see Daena standing in his room until she is pressing herself against him her mouth hot and insistent against his. "I know you are hurt and upset my love," she says between kisses and moans. "I will find a way to be with you I promise. You must take this with you." She presses a crown into his hands.

He looks at it stunned. "This is the crown Torrhen Stark wore when he was King in the North. Where did you get it from?"

Daena smiles a sly smile. "There are rooms here which no one has been in for years. Let us say I got the crown from there. Take it with you, and when we marry you shall wear it become a king my love." She kisses him once more and then walks out of the room.

The next day Willam rides with ten men back to Winterfell, the crown kept along with his most precious belongings. When he tells his father of King Baelor's humiliation of him and their family, Lord Cregan promises that the insult will not go forgotten and instructs Maester Osgrey to begin work on Moat Cailin, to have it rebuilt to its former glory. For the Starks are of the north, and the North Remembers.


	2. Dragons and Wolves

**The Hand of the King**

He still heard the dragons screeching sometimes at night. He still saw the fires, and the burnt bodies of the fallen, of his brothers and his father, lying unseeingly on the pyre as they were given to the flames. He still remembers seeing his mother being fed to his uncle's dragon. He was not sorry when the last dragon died, even if it symbolises something, an end to all out Targaryen dominance in the Seven Kingdoms. Dragons are not needed, political ties are. It was why he suggested to Aegon that they foster the little lordlings from the Wardens so that should war come again, there would be no threat, no uncertainty. Viserys still remembers how his mother had fumed and fumed, when her brother had crowned himself, how she had wept bitter tears when they learnt of Baelon, Gaemon and Aemon's deaths.

They never sing about the death and destruction that comes with war in the songs. No they only sing about the great deeds and how the knights always win and the bad men lose, and how the maiden in the tower always, always is saved by the charming prince. Lies all of them. There are no true knights, there are no maidens in the tower, Viserys and his brother had learnt that hard lesson during the Dance, and their children were learning it now. He had counselled strongly against invading Dorne, had told Daeron that there was no purpose to conquering it that had it needed to have been conquered; Aegon the Dragon would have done so. Daeron always a hot headed boy and urged on by the Baratheon and the Lannister boys, ignored his advice and called the banners and marched.

That he had managed to win Dorne in the first place was a miracle unto itself, though from the way the singers sang it, it was all to do with Daeron, the Young Dragon they were calling him, and Viserys suspected that his nephew had let the praise go to his head. Though not before he had told him how it had been because of Willam Stark that Dorne had finally surrendered, how Willam had fought and fought like the warrior himself. Viserys knew that his nephew and Willam Stark were close, closer than Daeron and Baelor, like true brothers. He also knew that Daeron's death had hit Stark hard, he knew that there was only one thing Stark treasured more than his friendship with Daeron and that was Daeron's sister Princess Daena.

Viserys had seen the two of them grow up together, had seen how Willam thought Daena hung the moon, he had suggested to Aegon that perhaps it would be good if Daena and Willam were to marry, it would strengthen ties with the north. His brother had refused, had stated that Daeron would marry the Arryn girl and Baelor and Daena would marry. That had not been one of his brother's better suggestions, Viserys had to admit, as far as he was aware Baelor and Daena's marriage had gone unconsummated, and when Baelor had set the marriage aside, Viserys urged him to allow Willam and Daena to marry. Baelor refused.

His nephew was a fool, a pious man, but a fool none the less. Baelor said outright in front of the whole court when Willam Stark had come to ask for Daena's hand in marriage that no northern savage was worthy of a Princess of the blood, that the Faith would not stand for some blasphemous wedding. Stark had stormed out fuming and had also resigned as Master of Laws, and Viserys had been living in panic since that day trying desperately to mend the broken relationship with Winterfell. His sources had told him the day that Cregan Stark had begun rebuilding Moat Cailin, and he had felt his gut begin to sink. Torrhen Stark had knelt to Aegon the Dragon, because he wished to spare his people the fate suffered on the Field of Fire, Moat Cailin had been a ruin even then. But now the Targaryens had no dragons and Baelor's piety was casting dispersion within the Lords mentalities, if Stark were to declare himself King the realm would bleed.

And so Viserys continued to beg Baelor to reconsider, to send a raven to Winterfell apologising to Willam Stark, and offering him Daena's hand. His nephew refused to budge on the matter, claimed that the Crone had shown him the wisdom in his decision, and that he would find another husband for his sisters once the Seven had shown him the right path. That had been nine years ago, they were still waiting for Baelor's right path. Baelor had confined his sisters to the Maidenvault so that they would not tempt him or his court into mortal lusts, a foolish notion if Baelor ever had one. He knew for a fact that Elena snuck out of the Maidenvault each night to visit her Velaryon cousin that she was likely pregnant with his child, he knew that Daena had snuck out on multiple occasions to meet lovers, and to send ravens to Winterfell. He also knew courtesy of Aegon that the boy Daena had just recently borne was his that had gotten him to think, would Stark still want Daena even though she had a bastard?

There were other pressing matters that he had to think of as well. His fool of a nephew had appointed first a mere peasant as High Septon, that had been a disaster, the man could not read nor could he write, the Most Devout had been close to rebelling, Viserys had had to have one of his men step in and end his nephew's folly. The man was poisoned in his sleep, but his nephew proved his capability for foolishness once more when he appointed an eight year old boy to the position of High Septon, claiming that the boy could perform miracles, and yet the boy was unable to do anything to improve his king's failing health. Viserys knew what would be said once Baelor died, that he had been the one to poison the king, that he coveted the crown. All lies, each and every single one of them. His nephew was dying from the wasting sickness, all those years of fasting over eggs and other such nonsense had finally taken their toll on his nephew's body, and he was beginning to waste away.

His nephew's reign had Viserys had to admit been one foolish mistake after another made by Baelor, and before the true consequences of his actions could be felt, it fell to Viserys to rectify the situation make sure that the actions were made to seem more favourable. It did take a lot of effort and patience, and of course with three children of his own to worry about Viserys constantly had his hands tied. Though he would give Baelor credit where it was due, after the war with Dorne, something needed to be done to ensure that there would be no more war, and it had been Baelor who, after walking across the Boneway to rescue the captives, had proposed a marriage to secure the alliance. Viserys' grandson Prince Daeron had married Princess Myriah Martell, Prince Mors' daughter. The couple had been married two years previously and had just had their first child, whom they had named Baelor in honour of the current king.

The marriage had brought peace to the realm, and with the peace had come a promise from Dorne, they would become a part of the Seven Kingdoms in due time. Both sides would put aside their anger over Daeron's war, and would learn to forgive and move forward. Though whether or not they would forget was a completely different matter altogether, and one which Viserys did not think he would be alive for long enough to truly see or influence. He only prayed that those who followed him would be able to counsel the next king wisely, and fairly.

He entered the small council chamber and looked at the table where he had sat with Baelor's council, and before that Daeron's, and before that Aegon's. And if he tried very hard he could remember coming here as a small boy, when his grandfather had still been king, before the Dance, and he remembered being perched on his mother's knee as the matters of state were discussed. The small council now was much different to how it had been then. Back in the days of his grandfather the talk had been of the succession, and of Andal customs. He remembered Ser Cristan Cole, the Kingmaker he was known as now, how he had argued fiercely first for Viserys' mother and then later once Viserys' grandfather began to grow ill for Viserys' uncle. The man was a traitor and had justly died a traitor's death on the banks of the Blackwater Rush during the Dance. The small council during Aegon's reign had been all about reconciliation bringing back those houses that had sided with the pretender and allowing them some forgiveness. Viserys knew of course that whilst they may talk of forgiveness in the open, neither he nor Aegon had truly forgiven those who had betrayed their mother, nor had Aegon ever truly come love his bride, the one Velaryon forced on him, that traitor's daughter, Viserys knew that his brother had come to love his Velaryon bride though.

The small council during Daeron's reign had been brief and short, war was the hot topic, the small council was made up of the boys Daeron had grown up with. Damon Lannister as Master of Coin, Robar Baratheon as Master of whisperers, Quellon Greyjoy as Master of ships, Lord Commander Odrick Arryn, Willam Stark as Master of Laws, Grand Maester Tyrell, and then there was Viserys. A young small council except for Viserys, Tyrell and Ser Odrick, and yet hungry for war nonetheless, and war they had gotten. Baratheon and Ser Odrick had died in Dorne alongside Daeron. Lannister and Stark had come back different men to the ones who had ridden south in the first place, and yet Stark was back in the north and Lannister remained in King's Landing, no doubt at the urging of his lord father.

Viserys' thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, calling for whoever it was to come in, he found himself looking at his son Aemon, Aemon who had donned the white of the Kingsguard and had distinguished himself in Dorne. "His grace is calling for you father." His son said solemnly. Viserys nodded and got up out of his chair and followed his son to Maegor's Holdfast and the rooms of the King. When he entered he saw Maester Marwyn leaning over Baelor applying some sort of funny smelling lotion, gathered around the King were Aegon and Naerys. Viserys kept walking till his nephew could see him, Baelor was breathing heavily each breath was a task for him; his skin was as pale as milk. Sweat beaded down his skin, yet when he opened his eyes the violet irises seemed to be more alive than ever. He grasped Viserys' hand and tugged on it. Viserys moved closer.

"Free them," Baelor whispered. "Free Daena, Rhaena, Elena. I was wrong. Free them." He said.

"I will your grace." Viserys promised.

Baelor's eyes closed then, but he spoke still. "Write... Winterfell...tell...Willam...I'm...sorry."

"I will Your Grace." Viserys promised once more.

"Good... let me rest now...the gods are waiting...father...mother...Daeron." Baelor whispered his voice getting quieter and quieter with every word.

"Rest Your Grace." Viserys said, Baelor kept his eyes closed and spoke no more. He kept hold of Viserys hand though, until a great cough wracked his body and blood came out of his lips, and then his breathing stopped all together. Behind him he heard Naerys crying softly, Viserys turned to Maester Marwyn and said "Tell them to ring the bells of the Sept. The king is dead."

* * *

**Daena**

She was free. Ten years her brother had seen fit to keep her imprisoned and at last she was free. True her freedom may have come more from her brother's death than any good will her uncle bore her, but she was still free. It had been a long ten years, made longer by the fact that she no longer had Willam by her side to give her comfort as she raged and cried over her brother's follies, and the fact that he would not bed her, as was the practice. Numerous times over her imprisonment had she cursed the Seven, and her father, and even on rare occasions Daeron. If Daeron had not died in Dorne, she knew he would have set aside her and Baelor's marriage and allowed her to marry Willam, after all how many times had Daeron told her that Willam was as good as a brother to him?

But alas Daeron died in the Dornish desert and Baelor came to the throne, he set aside their marriage but did not allow Willam and her to marry. Daena knew Willam had been wroth, especially because Baelor had rejected the proposal in front of court and had insulted him. Before he had left for Winterfell, they had bedded each other, with a fierce passion and desire, and she had kept that desire to herself for most of her captivity, she had drunk moon tea after when he had left, so that he would not suffer the consequences. She had tried to remain faithful to her wolf, but she was a woman of passion and action, and the waiting and the captivity were getting to her, when her cousin Aegon proposed a way for her to break free, the only condition be that she sleeps with him. And so she did, and so thoroughly did she enjoy the freedom that sneaking out of the Maidenvault gave her, that she slept with Aegon twice more. It was that third and final time that Daemon was conceived, she was sure of it.

When it was found that she was pregnant, Baelor came storming into the Maidenvault all pious anger, demanding to know whom the father was. She refused to name Aegon, and when Daemon was born, she decided she would raise him herself, Baelor be damned. As it happened she knew that Elena had been sneaking out long before she ever had, to see their cousin Alyn Velaryon. The day Daemon was born, Baelor fell ill, and she was convinced that it was a sign from the gods; they were punishing Baelor for being a fool, a pious fool who had rejected an honourable proposal for her hand, and had in turn insulted some of the oldest gods in Westeros. Her brother had died for that crime, she was certain.

Baelor had done one thing in his reign, one thing he would be remembered for. Just as Daeron was remembered for conquering Dorne, Baelor would be remembered for giving the kingdoms to the Dornish. In arranging the marriage between their nephew Daeron and Princess Myriah Martell, Baelor was effectively ensuring that the Targaryen line, and the Iron Throne would be continued by a Dornishman. He should have had Daeron marry either Rhaena or Elena, not some Dornish slut, who more than likely would not stick to Daeron's bed. Whatever ill will she bore towards Aegon and Naerys for having the freedom to roam around the Red Keep whilst she and her sisters were kept in the Maidenvault like common criminals, could not be put on Daeron, Aegon and Naerys' son, he was such a sweet, kind and caring boy. A bit bookish, that was true, but better that than to be a lustful man like Aegon was. Daena knew that her cousin kept many mistresses, littered throughout Westeros, during Baelor's reign he would keep them hidden, but it was common knowledge where he would go when he went out of King's Landing. She knew not how Naerys put up with her husband's foolery, but then again she supposed that having a brother in the Kingsguard, helped. Prince Aemon had won much renown for his fighting in Dorne, and in defending his sister's honour against the slanders of Ser Morgil, had earnt himself a place in the history books, already he was being hailed as the finest knight to have ever lived.

But she could not dwell on that, she would not dwell on that. After ten years of being kept cooped up inside the Maidenvault she was finally free, free to do as she pleased when she pleased, by decree of her uncle, King Viserys the second of his name. Elena had had two bastard children by then with their cousin Alyn, a Jon and Jeyne Waters, but Alyn had died of a fever a few days after Baelor had, and so Elena had quickly been married off to some Lord Tyrell or Hightower, who now served on their uncle's small council. Rhaena had become Septa; her years spent in the Maidenvault had made her all the more religious than she had been as a child. And Daena, what did she wish to do? She wished to find the quickest horse and ride all the way to Winterfell and kiss Willam right on the lips, and never stop kissing him.

Of course she could not do that, not now anyway, not with Daemon only a year old, perhaps when he became older she would. But then she was worried, what if Willam no longer wanted her? What if he found her less desirable now she had a child who was not his? All these thoughts constantly kept running through her head during and since she had given birth to Daemon. It was why she had not written to Willam since she had found out she was pregnant, she was scared he would reject her.

She need not have worried. Willam came down to King's Landing, the new Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North to pledge fealty to her uncle King Viserys II, and once that was done he asked for her hand in marriage. Daena felt her heart begin to flutter nervously, as she waited for her uncle to respond, she prayed to the old gods and the new in the time it took for her uncle to respond, and she prayed that the said yes. King Viserys had always been a solemn man and one who would weigh each word before he spoke, and then had been no different. He had looked at Willam, who had his head raised; almost daring the king to refuse, and then a small smile crept up onto the old king's face and he said the words that Daena thought she would never hear. "Lord Stark, you would consent to marrying a woman who already has a son who is not your own?"

Willam straightened up and looked straight at her when he replied. "Any child of Princess Daena's is as good as mine Your Grace." Daena felt her heart swell with love for him, this northerner she so desperately wanted to call husband.

King Viserys looked at her then, "And what of you Daena, will you consent to marrying Lord Stark?"

Daena tried to keep her face expressionless but could not help the big smile that broke across her face. "Yes Your Grace. I do."

Her uncle smiled then, a true smile, a smile she had not seen since before her aunt had died. "Good. Then it is settled. Lord Willam Stark and mine own niece Princess Daena Targaryen shall be wed."

Daena's heart leapt with joy then, and afterwards when court had been dismissed, she had lead Willam to her chambers and kissed him and fucked him senseless, all to express her love and gratitude to him. Then when they were done, she rested her head on his chest, and listened to his heart beat, feeling content with the world. Though there was one thing she just had to ask, she had to be sure. "Willam?"

"Hmmm?" her betrothed replied sleepily.

"Did you mean what you said in court today? That any child of mine is as good as yours?" she asked hating how weak her voice sounded.

She felt Willam stir, and when she looked up his brown eyes were looking down at her. "Of course I did Daena. I love you, and you having a bastard does not change that. Daemon will live with us at Winterfell, and he will grow up alongside his brothers and sisters. And he will grow up loved."

He kissed her then, but Daena had to know why. "Why though?"

Willam sighed then, and he sounded so sad that she yearned to kiss away the pain she heard in his voice. "My mother died when I was away. Beron grew up without a mother. Daemon should know his mother, he should know his family. And besides, had Baelor had the sense to do what your uncle did, Daemon would have been our son anyway." With that he gave a playful growl and began kissing her again.

After the initial excitement of her betrothal and upcoming nuptials died down, Daena began planning her wedding. After the humiliation Baelor and his avid faith in the Seven had caused Willam, she was determined not to have a wedding in the Sept that had been built and had been named after her brother, no she insisted on having a wedding in a Godswood. But not the petty godswood that King's Landing had, no the only proper godswood south of the neck was on the Isle of Faces in Harrenhal. That was where she insisted, her and Willam's wedding take place. And so after much persuasion her uncle finally relented and agreed to have the wedding in Harrenhal, followed by a Tourney to celebrate it. The Lothstons were only too happy to accommodate the King's request, and so the invitations were sent out, and anybody who was anybody came to Harrenhal for what some were deeming the wedding of the decade.

She knew Willam felt uncomfortable with the amount of pageantry being put on display for their wedding, and she knew that he would rather have just had a simple wedding, but as she was of the blood royal, there were certain things that needed to be done. But she did do her best to make sure he felt at ease, and when his brother Artos and his family came down to Harrenhal, Willam truly seemed to come out of his shell, and become more of the man Daena knew him to be.

The day of their wedding dawned bright and clear, the sun shining and not a cloud in sight. There was a light breeze in the air, but as Daena was helped into her wedding dress, she felt nothing but warm. Happiness radiated from her in waves, so much so that even Naerys who was usually very solemn seemed happy. She was helped down the aisle by her uncle the King, and when she saw Willam standing there in his grey doublet and matching tunic and breeches with the Stark cloak around his shoulders, her breath was taken away. He looked gorgeous.

She stood beside him in front of the heart tree, as Lord Lothston, began to speak. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of two people. Two people in love, two people, and two houses. Who comes?"

Her uncle stepped forward with her and said "Princess Daena of House Targaryen. Who claims her?"

Willam spoke then. "I, Willam of House Stark, do claim her."

Then Lord Lothston began to speak again. "Do you swear to love each other and guard each other's secrets and lives from now till the end of your days?"

"I do." They said in unison.

"Then swear it by Ice."

And so they swore it by Ice.

"Sweat it by fire."

And so they swore their love by fire.

"And now swear by the old gods and the new, let any man who have reason for why these two people should not be married let him speak now or forever hold his peace."

When no one spoke, Lord Lothston smiled and said. "You may now kiss." And kiss they did, a long warm kiss that had Daena's insides burning up with heat and love and passion.

And so it was that Princess Daena of House Targaryen, in the 171st Year after Aegon's Landing became, Lady Daena Stark Lady of Winterfell.


	3. The Man Who Would Be King

**The Unworthy**

Aegon Targaryen the fourth of his name was a man of voracious appetites. Be it food, fighting or women, he liked to have all three in plentiful amounts. The food came easily as Aegon the Fourth was first a prince and then the King of the Iron Throne and to deny him anything would mean your head on a spike. The women came easily as well, for Aegon was a charmer, he had a easy manner with women, and of course knew all the tricks in the book, and of course being that he was a prince of the Iron Throne in his younger days many women flocked to him and the promise he showed. The fighting was harder to come by. As a prince of the Iron Throne in his youth he could not openly challenge any knight or man without degrading the family name, and of course no sane man would dare challenge a prince of the blood. So Aegon found his relief for his frustration through fighting in his cousin Daeron's conquest of Dorne, earning a name for himself as a able and noted warrior. However, with his cousin Baelor's ascension to the throne came peace, and with it came unlimited amounts of frustrations for Aegon.

For Baelor was not war-minded monarch and was content to leave Dorne in peace, so long as they gave him no reason to worry. Aegon was not a knight of the Kingsguard and also found competing in jousts in tourney much less fun, and as a prince of the Iron Throne he knew that he would not face any true threat to his person. And so his frustration grew, and he began to vent that frustration on the only two outlets left available to him: food and women. Food and women became very visible at court, not Baelor's vices but Aegon's, with his father as Hand though Aegon kept his more lecherous tendencies at bay, though he did occasionally indulge in the company of one Lady Stokeworth, despite being married to his sister Naerys.

There was no love lost between Aegon and Naerys, they had not been close as children, and of course Aegon knew his sister in reality loved their brother Aemon, but Aemon like all boys of seventeen had chased dreams of glory and honour and had joined the Kingsguard during the later months of King Aegon the Dragonbane's reign. Aegon also knew that the rumours that their brother Aemon had cried during the day of his and Naerys wedding was not a rumour but was in fact the truth. He knew that his brother had loved Naerys since they were very little, but he did not hold by the rumours that Daeron was Aemon and Naerys child. For whilst the boy may be more bookish than a future king truly should be, there was a certain fire in him that reminded Aegon of himself, more so than Aemon.

His night of passion with Daena was more of a one off thing and was never spoke of again, at least not between Aegon and Daena themselves. Aegon had grown up with his cousins and Willam Stark, and he knew that Daena was deeply in love with Stark, it was why he had been so surprised when he had found Daena in his room one night during the later years of Baelor's reign. He had been even more surprised when she had taken him in her mouth and ordered him to fuck her, but of course she was his queen and he was a Targaryen, and Targaryens had never faltered from their duty, and so they had fucked- it was never making love with Aegon, never- and then when Daena had begun to show the early signs of pregnancy he had known that the babe was his, though Daena insisted on remaining quiet.

Aegon's father had ruled the realm as hand for night on twenty years, whilst Daeron warred and Baelor prayed, and yet when he himself came into the throne he was old and tired. Aegon knew this, he also knew that he would someday soon sit the Iron Throne, and he knew that that would bring even more attention from the fairer sex, something which Aegon had deeply looked forward to. His father had pursued a policy of peace as Hand of the King, and that was something he maintained as king. The marriage pact which Baelor had envisioned with Dorne had been sealed with the marriage of Aegon's son Daeron to Princess Myriah Martell of Dorne, in the last year of Baelor's reign. They had had a boy, a squalling black haired and violet eyed child whom they had named Baelor, the boy looked Dornish except for his eyes, but then again Aegon supposed that at least his son had had the balls to do his duty, unlike the uncle he so deeply respected.

The same time that Daeron and Myriah's child had been born, Daena had given birth to a baby boy whom she had named Daemon, she had refused to name the boy's father publicly, but in private when Aegon had come to see her after the babe had been born, she had told him what he already knew, that he was the father. Once Baelor died, Aegon's father went about trying to repair the relationships that Baelor's idiocy had nearly damaged. Viserys II was a smart man and knew that the North could pose a serious threat to the Iron Throne should they choose to rebel, and so he had given Willam Stark what he had always wanted a marriage to Aegon's cousin Daena, at the Isle of Faces, and Daena and Daemon had gone north to Winterfell with Willam Stark.

A year later Aegon became king. And he found that being king was much more fun than being heir to the throne. Everyone listened to him and did as he said, he had more women and food than he had ever had before. And of course with his son married to a Princess of Dorne, he had the perfect hostage to give reason for his war on Dorne. He had built wooden dragons and called his banners, intent on finishing the work that Daeron had started. The war had failed, the Dornish being the snakes that they were had burnt his dragons and the men inside of them, and had bled his army with cowardly attacks in the night.

But Prince Mors Martell was a smart man; he agreed to become part of the Seven Kingdoms formally if Aegon's soon to be born daughter married his son Maron. Aegon in a rare moment of good sense agreed and so he waited patiently for his daughter to flower, but in the back of his mind he always kept an eye on how his son was doing in Winterfell and simply bade his time, waiting for the right moment to break the agreement with Dorne.

Aegon's lusts eventually cost him his brother Aemon. Aemon had risen to be the Lord Commander of his Kingsguard and had died defending Aegon from the Toyne brothers who had been fool enough to try and kill Aegon, in revenge for him having ordered Ser Terrence Toyne killed, torn piece by piece for having been found in bed with one of Aegon's mistresses. Despite the hypocrisy of what he was saying, Aegon had ranted and raved and said how the Kingsguard were sworn to a life of celibacy, and that he was the dragon, and that the dragon did not share, with anybody. House Toyne had been out of favour ever since, and Aegon had continued on with his lusts.

The food and drink eventually caught up with him, and soon Aegon found himself with a belly, where before there had only been chiselled skin. He grew a beard to hide the many chins he had. His suspicions about the truth of Daeron's parentage began to grow as his body mass grew. With Lord Reyne whispering in his ear about how the commons whispered of the wolf dragon his son Daemon, and how he even at such a young age seemed to be showing great promise with the sword and every other weapon he wielded, and how Daeron was unduly influenced by the foreign Dornish viper who was his wife. Aegon sent word to Lord Stark in Winterfell in the 180th year since Aegon's Landing, asking for Daemon and Stark's son Daeron to be sent to King's Landing to foster.

When Aegon set eyes upon his son for the first time, it was like he was looking at a mirror image of himself at the exact same age, there was no doubting that Daemon was his. As he watched Daemon grow to manhood before his eyes, he began making comparisons between his two sons, his bastard and his trueborn sons. He found that he liked greatly what he saw in Daemon; the boy clearly had an eye for martial skills, and from speaking to the master of arms at the Red Keep Aegon learnt that the boy knew how to wield a blade better than Ser Quentyn himself. Aegon's trueborn son Daeron was more interested in books and bookish pursuits, and Aegon began to despair that perhaps the boy had come from his loins, for though his nature was more like that of Naerys, there was a fire and a stubbornness was all Aegon, or was it Aemon?

As the years rolled by and Aegon watched Daeron grow up, and then later saw Daemon grow, it became harder and harder for Aegon to keep convincing himself that Daeron was actually his son, and that his wife had not cheated on him with their brother as the singers were wont to say. Naerys had died of a fever three years before Daemon had come to court, and Aemon had died a year before Daemon came to court, and so there was no one there for Aegon to truly question about the stories and whispers he heard around court and those that were brought before him by Lord Reyne.

Aegon made up his mind when he held a tournament in King's Landing to celebrate his nameday. All the knights and nobles of renown came to the capital to attend, compete and watch. Daemon was only ten and two, but fought with the skill of a man with much more years and experience behind him. He unseated three knights of the Kingsguard, the famous Ser Ullrick Dayne, and David Lannister and then engaged in a two hour long tilt with Ser Mathis Tyrell a knight of great renown, before he eventually won the duel. So impressed with his bastard son, Aegon decided on the spur of the moment to knight him there and then. He knighted his son, and when he saw Daemon rise as Ser Daemon Waters, he felt such pride and joy at seeing one of his children achieving something with life, more so than he ever had with Daeron, or any of Daeron's grandchildren.

Aegon's habits eventually came back to haunt him, and in his forty fourth year of life he was taken ill. The maesters told him that the food and the drink had all gone and clogged some parts of his heart and other important organs, and that he only had a few moons to live. And so he began crafting his will, he had his hand Lord Massey and the other members of his small council fix their seals to two copies of the will, and then had them stored away for after he was dead, when they read the contents of both wills they could decide what would be done. It was one last joke that he would play on Westeros, the land of his birth, the land his father had given so much to, the land that both idolised and ridiculed the Targaryens, they would suffer for their foolishness once Aegon was dead. To make justly sure that his plans worked effectively, on his deathbed with his dying breaths, with Lord Massey present in the room he legitimised all his bastards and gave them a claim to the Iron Throne, he also gave Blackfyre the sword of kings to his bastard Daemon and then died with a smile on his face, the first he had smiled in many years.

* * *

**Willam**

In the years that preceded his marriage to Daena, Willam Stark stayed in the north, brooding and helping his father to oversee the reconstruction of Moat Cailin, the ancient northern fortress. When he returned to Winterfell after nearly ten years away from his home, he found it much changed. His mother had died some years previously, and with her gone it seemed that most of the joy and enthusiasm that had existed in his childhood home. His father, always a grim and solemn man in public, had become grim and solemn man in private as well, the fever that had taken Willam's mother had been building for some time, and yet from what Artos and Jeyne told Willam upon his return, their father blamed Maester Wyman for their mother's death, and then when Maester Wyman had taken ill sometime before Willam's return, their father did little to ensure the maester's survival.

Willam also noted how in their mother's absence Jeyne had taken up the mothering role for Beron, who was now ten and three and yet had very little memory of their mother. Lord Cregan himself though often grim and solemn did not seem to forget his duty to his children, and always made sure they were looked after and were cared for, and he had- Willam was relieved to note- rejected Lord Bolton's proposal of wedding Jeyne to the heir of the Dreadfort, and had instead began talks with Lord Greyjoy about wedding Jeyne to Quellon. That was something that Willam was most happy about, for Quellon was as good as a brother to him, they had shared many, many good times in King's Landing, and Quellon had helped Daeron in his conquest of Dorne. Jeyne herself had at first been reluctant to agree to the match, fearing that Quellon would be too barbaric for her liking- despite Willam's words to the contrary- but she had eventually come round to the idea after meeting with Quellon thrice, and so had agreed to the match. And so ties between the north and the Iron Islands were strengthened when Jeyne and Quellon married in the 165th Year after Aegon's Landing. The alliance was sealed completely when their son- Willam's nephew- Dagon was born three years later.

Willam's brother and twin Artos had married a Karstark, strengthening the ties between the two families. His brother and his lady wife had three children by the time Lord Cregan died. Two sons Brandon and Benjen and a daughter named Melissa. Lord Cregan had told Willam one day during a private meeting between the two of them that he intended to give the finished reconstructed Moat Cailin to Artos as his seat and for his children and their children to hold. For Cregan had taken to heart the offence King Baelor the Blessed had dealt his son, and had adopted a policy of isolation.

Beron, the youngest of Cregan Stark's wolf pups had considered joining the Night's Watch, as a third son he had very little to truly inherit, and Willam knew that despite what the southerners might think, there was honour in serving the Night's Watch. However, when the keeper of the keys to the Wolf's Den died, Lord Cregan informed Lord Manderly that he intended to give the Wolf's Den to Beron, and that was how Beron Stark, the third son came to be Lord of the Wolf's Den, and ancient Stark seat. As part of the agreement Beron married Lord Manderly's eldest daughter Wylla. By the time Willam became lord of Winterfell, Beron and Wylla had had one son and one daughter.

Throughout the ten years that followed his leaving from King's Landing, though his father and then he received many offers for his hand, Willam refused them all for there was only one lady that he would ever give his heart and his love to, Princess Daena Targaryen. When he returned home from King's Landing with his pride hurt and his mind plagued by nightmares of Dorne, he turned to his father for help, and Cregan Stark proved his mettle once more as a father. He listened as Willam talked all about what he had done in the years before he returned to Winterfell, about the Conquest of Dorne and the nightmares he still had, about Daeron's death, about he and Daena, about Baelor's idiocy and the plotting of the court. Throughout it all his father sat in silence and listened, and then when Willam had finished speaking, Lord Cregan looked at his son with his solemn grey eyes and told his eldest born son, that the Targaryens were proud and vain, and that made them fools. Some were cleverer fools than the other members of their family, but they were still on the Iron Throne, and so long as they were the north would never truly be safe and free. He also told Willam that it mattered not that Willam and Daena had sex before marriage, for Viserys Targaryen was one of the less foolish Targaryens and would make sure that somehow Willam and Daena ended up together.

Reassured that he was not about to be severly chastised for his actions Willam showed his father the crown of the Kings of Winter that Daena had given him in King's Landing before he had left. His father looked at the crown in Willam's hands an unreadable expression on his face, he did not ask where Willam had gotten the crown from, but Willam suspected that his father knew where it had come from. Lord Cregan remained silent for a very long time, before he eventually spoke. Even now the words of what he said caused Willam to shiver. "Keep it safe Willam. There will come a time when the north will awaken from its slumber. And when it does it will have need of a strong leader." Cregan Stark had said with solemn face and an ominous tone in his voice.

Lord Cregan Stark died in the 168th Year after Aegon's Landing from the same fever that had taken his wife and Willam's mother. A slow wasting disease that took away his strength and Willam suspected his will to live. Cregan Stark died with his wife's name on his lips. Willam Stark became Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North at the age of twenty and five, still unmarried but in his brother Artos and his children he had heirs, Moat Cailin was still to be completed when he became Warden of the North. Willam spent the next three years touring the north and getting better acquainted with his bannermen and the people he would be ruling for the remainder of his life. The marriage proposals eventually stopped about a moon before news of King Baelor's death reached the North. The northern lords seemed to have accepted that their lord would not marry anyone except the dragon princess who had gained his heart. All the lords that is except for Lord Bolton, who having taken Cregan's rejection humbly, fiercely persisted in having his daughter become lady of Winterfell, something that had never happened before as far as anyone was aware of, and something that did not happen.

When news came to Winterfell of King Baelor's death Willam rode to King's Landing to pledge fealty to the new king and with it hoped to marry his one true love. His wish was granted and so they married in the Isle of Faces, the only place south of the neck that had a godswood. A tourney was held in Harrenhal to celebrate the wedding, but Willam did not find the pageantry that was put on to his liking, he would have much preferred to marry Daena in the north, but she wished to marry in the south and he had never been able to refuse her anything and so they married in the south. Willam knew that some whispered about how he was marrying a 'spoilt woman' as Daena had a bastard child, Daemon the boy was called, but Willam did not mind nor did he truly care. Any child of Daena's was as good as his, and she also told him who Daemon's father was and that what had happened that night was just a onetime thing. Willam understood though he had not strayed from his commitment during their time apart.

Only one thing soured his time spent back in King's Landing and the south. Princess Myriah Martell, King Viserys II Targaryen's granddaughter in law. The girl- for that was what she was- not only came from Dorne, she came from the ruling house of Dorne. The house that had had its people use cowardly and unhonourable tactics to undo all of Daeron's hard work, she was the daughter of the man who had ordered the butchery of many good and honourable men who were only fighting for their king. And on top of that, the girl had had the nerve to insult Willam's father and the north to his face. Calling the north a 'land of savages' and calling Willam's father a craven. She also insulted Willam himself, calling him a butcher and a murderer, Willam kept silent throughout all of these insults, but when the girl had dared to insult Daena calling her a whore within his hearing he had lashed back. He had told her that she was lucky to still be alive, and that had her father and her people had any honour whatsoever they would all of ended up as heads on spikes.

Once the wedding was done Willam, Daena and Daemon rode north to Winterfell. Once there Willam continued his father's policy of isolation from the south. He did not keep any contact with the south, nor did he much care for the antics of Aegon IV, he did not care that there were rumours circling the southern kingdoms that Daeron Targaryen, Aegon and Naerys child may not actually be Aegon's, but rather his brother Aemon's. Had he cared, he would have dismissed such rumours, he had grown up with both Aegon and Aemon, and had fought beside them both, Aemon was too honourable to shame his vows, despite the obvious love he bore for Naerys that was far beyond brotherly.

Willam and Daena's first child together was born in 172 A.L. a boy with brown hair and violet eyes, whom they named Daeron, after Willam's best friend and Daena's favourite brother. Daeron and Daemon grew close to one another as they grew up from babes to boys in Winterfell, and by all accounts they grew even closer in King's Landing, where they were sent to foster upon Aegon's request to meet his son. Five more children follow Daeron's birth. A boy whom they name Cregan born in 175 A.L. , a girl born in 177 A.L. whom they name Velena, another boy born in 180 A.L. whom they name Theon, and then three moons before Willam rides for war against Raymun Redbeard, and the day that work on Moat Cailin is completed twin girls born in 184 A.L. whom are named Barbery and Bethany. All of their children have their mother's violet eyes and heart shaped face, Cregan and Velena have their father's brown hair alongside their brother Daeron, whilst Theon and the twins have their mother's silvery gold hair.

It is thoughts of his children that fill Willam Stark's head as he fights against the Wildings at Long Lake. It is these thoughts and thoughts of his wife, that keep him going through the rain and the sleet and the mud, and the horror of watching his men get cut down in front of him by the wildlings. It is these thoughts that drive him to keep raising Ice one stroke after the other to hack and cut and slash the wildlings that come his way to pieces, and allow him to keep the anger at bay, anger at the Night's Watch, anger that they did not keep the wildlings away like they were supposed to. Willam Stark dies with his wife's name on his lips, he dies with his sword in hand, but he dies not with a sword through his throat or chest, but with his head loped off.

Willam Stark dies, and it falls to his brother Artos to kill Raymun Redbeard and beat the wildlings.


	4. Mouth For War

**Danaerys**

Her whole life has been subject to the whims of men, their lusts, their grasping for power. She was born two years before her father came to the throne, and she grew up with the knowledge that when she came of age that she would marry not the man she loved, but a man in a faraway place, a man from a place that had caused nothing but heartache and sorrow for her family, she would go to Dorne and marry Prince Maron Martell. That was the knowledge with which she had grown up with, a treaty signed by her uncle King Baelor the blessed, before she had even been born, signed and sealed by her brother Daeron's marriage to Myriah.

Growing up she had never truly paid too much attention to the fact that in a few years she would be herded off to Dorne, to marry a man she had never met before. It had never truly occurred to her that that might not be what she wanted, for she had seen how her mother had acted and lived during the time she had been alive, and mother had never truly been happy, and she had been married to her brother, whom she had grown up with. She had been like all over girls she now knew, dreaming idly about this stranger she would marry, how he would be as strong as the warrior, and as kind as her uncle Aemon. She had always pictured him looking somewhat like her too she realised. But whenever she asked her septa or her mother about her betrothed, they would always begin looking uncomfortable and would try and change the subject, and Danaerys never truly understood why.

Then she had met Daemon, and all of her childish dreams had gone away, and her world had changed. She had always known that she had a half brother, but of course being the perfect lady that she was, she never asked her mother or father about him. But she knew from speaking with Daeron that he lived in Winterfell with their aunt Daena and her husband Lord Willam Stark. Then she had been told that Daemon and his half brother Daeron were coming to live with them at court, and she had been so excited. They would be two new friends for her to play with, two new people to join her, Baelor, Brynden, Maekar and Aelinor's games.

When she had met Daemon, her breath had been taken away, she realised that now. He looked just like their father had when he had been younger; she knew that was what the court whispered. He was strong and beautiful, and he was kind and smart, he was her half brother and yet she found that she no longer wished to go to Dorne and marry Prince Maron, whom she had never met. She wanted to marry Daemon, and have his children and live the rest of her life with him. When she had said something like that to Daeron, once when she had asked him why she had to marry Prince Maron, Daeron had smiled that sad little smile he often smiled, ruffled her hair and told her that she couldn't marry Daemon because though he was their brother, he was also a bastard, and a bastard was not a good match for a princess of the Iron Throne. Danaerys had been so sad when she had heard Daeron say that, Daeron had always been like a father to her, she looked up to him, and she had thought that when he became king that he would let her and Daemon marry, that he would not let some treaty get in the way of the love and feelings between two people he cared about. She had been wrong.

She had tried to appeal to her father, but her father had always laughed and told her that what had been arranged all those years ago would have to stand, that it could not change, that he would not change it. But she still remembered how on his deathbed, her father had spoken to her, and had whispered to her that he had signed a document, his last as king, breaking the marriage pact between herself and Prince Maron Martell, and that he had given it to his hand, and that when the time was right, she should go and speak to his hand and ask him for the paper. She told Daemon about what their father had said, and he had looked so happy when she had told him, kissing her till they could not breathe properly. They had gone a few days after their father had breathed his last, and had gone to find their father's hand of the king Lord Massey for the paper. Lord Massey had looked at them like they had spouted an extra head and told them that their father had not given him two papers, but just the one paper, which declared his intention of legitimisation of all his bastards- Daemon had bristled at that- and his recognition of Daeron as the true king.

Dejected and broken hearted they had walked back to their rooms hand in hand, but before they could say their goodbyes they had found Daemon's half brother Daeron standing in front of Danaerys' room a strange look on his face. Danaerys had never truly gotten to know Daeron, he was always hanging around with Aegor and Myriah's lady in waiting Arianne, and never truly spent time with herself or Baelor or Aelinor. She knew though that Daemon loved him fiercely, and that Maekar and he were very, very close. So when Daemon asked his brother what he was doing in front of her room, and when she heard Daeron reply that he knew what had happened to the paper that Lord Massey claimed not to know about, she and Daemon had both felt their ears perk up in interest.

Daeron said that he and Aegor had seen Lord Massey tear the piece of paper bearing the three headed dragon seal, and throw it in the bin. When they had been sure that Lord Massey had gone, they entered the room and grabbed the pieces from the bin and pieced them back together and what the paper said had shocked them both. King Aegon had named Daemon his true heir and had disinherited Daeron, claiming that Daeron was a bastard, the product of a relationship between Queen Naerys and Prince Aemon. She and Daemon had been shocked into silence, unable to speak for several long moments, before Daemon had burst out laughing, not his normal confident laugh, no this laugh had been shaky and confused. Daemon had told his brother in a chastening tone, telling him not to believe what he had seen, that perhaps that paper had just been the same paper that Lord Massey had presented to Daeron stating that King Aegon had legitimised his bastards. When Stark, insisted that what he had seen was the truth, Daemon had gotten very, very angry and had told him not to be foolish or stupid, and to avoid spending so much time with Aegor.

Then news had come on dark wings from the north, news that Daemon's adoptive father Lord Willam Stark had been killed fighting the wildlings that had invaded. Daemon and his brother Daeron went into mourning then, the atmosphere in their group became much more somber and thoughtful after that, they all tried to be more considerate toward Daeron Stark; even Aerys took his head out of his books and spent some time with Daeron and Daemon. Queen Myriah, however, was not so gracious. Danaerys was there in the throne room when the raven was read out before court, and Myriah said that "The wildlings had done the realm a service and that now there was one less barbarian and butcher in the realm." There had been a shocked silence then, and then the whispering had started, a fierce and harsh whispering as the courtiers acted scandalised. Danaerys had looked up at the throne then, to see her brother the King simply staring at his wife, an unreadable expression on his face, Danaerys knew that he could not demand she apologies or retract her statement, as that would make the royal family look weak, but she had thought that he might have tried to curb the whispering that was going on around court instead of allowing it to become like the hornet's nest that it had been.

Daeron Stark was the one who silenced the whispering. Stand rigidly and fixed to the spot, his violet eyes dark with anger, he spoke in a deadly quiet voice. "No," he had said. "The wildlings did not kill a barbarian or a savage, Your Grace." He took a step toward the throne, moving past Daemon's restraining hand. Danaerys still remembers how his face had taken on a defiant look to it and how his eyes had hardened when he looked straight up at the throne, at her brother and her good sister. "They killed one of the greatest men to have ever lived in Westeros. They killed a man who did his duty, with honour and pride, which served his king loyally, and fought and bled with his countrymen. "She still got shivers remembering the next words that he had said. "They killed my father; they took the man who looked after Daemon when your own husband would not. No, when they killed my father they did not killed a barbarian or a savage, they killed a person who was worth fifty of every Dornishmen alive right now." Danaerys still remembered how Daemon's hands had tightened on Daeron Stark's arm then, and how Stark kept advancing toward the throne, how with each step he took he seemed to be getting more and angrier. "My father fought for his people in Dorne, he fought honourably and justly, and how did the Dornish fight? How did your people fight my queen? Wit cowardly methods, like cravens they hid at night and fought in ones and twos. No true man fights like that. So no Queen Myriah, they did not kill just anybody, they killed my father, and I would be grateful if you could show his memory the respect and honour it deserves."

The room which had been silent during Daeron Stark's speech, burst out into frenzied whispering, Daeron Stark bowed once before Danaerys' brother and then barged past Daemon and out of the throne room, leaving behind a stunned royal family. Later, in the privacy of Daemon and Daeron's rooms, Danaerys remembers Daemon fuming and shouting at Daeron Stark, calling him a fool and a brave idiot in equal measure. Aegor had been there as well she knows, sitting in the corner quietly as Daemon and Daeron argued and shouted at each other. Daeron Stark left for Winterfell the next day, and had not set foot in King's Landing since that day.

In the Red Keep and King's Landing thought, it was obvious that whilst life went on, something had changed. Daemon, she knew had not forgotten nor forgiven the insult done to his brother and his adoptive family. He became more restless, and was frequently away from court, and King's Landing, and he did not spent so much time with her or Baelor or the rest of their group, instead he spent a great deal with Aegor, and even set up his own keep in the lands that their brother had given him, then he married. It was not a marriage for love, he constantly assured her, Daemon-her Daemon- married some Strickland girl from the Reach, a match arranged by their brother, in an attempt to quash the rumours circulating around the capital and the kingdoms about Daemon. Each time a letter came to King's Landing announcing the birth of one of Daemon's children over the next eleven years, Danaerys felt something inside of her heart break, until she felt like there was nothing there left to break. Each time Daemon wrote to her, he constantly ended his letters with the words "I love you, and I swear by the old gods and the new that we shall be together." But as the day of her marriage drew nearer she found that she could not make herself keep replying to his letters knowing that there was increasingly very little chance that they would ever be able to be together, and so she resigned herself to her upcoming nuptials to Prince Maron Martell, and tried very hard to push the thoughts of Daemon from her mind.

Then came the raven that would change all of their worlds for years to come. Daemon had crowned himself king and was rebelling against their brother.

* * *

**The Winter Dragon**

Daeron Stark, son of Willam Stark and Daena Targaryen, brother to Daemon Blackfyre, Cregan, Velena, Theon, Bethany and Barbery Stark sat reading over the raven that had come written in his brother's hand and thought back to the years and the events that had led them to this point. His earliest memories are of playing in Winterfell with Daemon, and then later Cregan joined their play. He had learnt from an early age that Daemon was not his trueborn brother, but that did not bother him, nor did it seem to bother his father Lord Willam. Daemon was made to feel as much a part of the family, as any other of Daeron's siblings.

They did all the things that brothers did; they learnt their histories and how to manage the people who would be their bannermen through sitting in with Lord Willam when he held meetings. They learnt how to earn the people's loyalty and their respect and trust, Daeron and Daemon observed Lord Willam as he would bring a member of the household staff to talk with him at dinner for alternate nights, that was as Daeron's father would say "the only way to earn the respect and loyalty of the household staff, for how can you expect them to work and care for you when you do not even care to know them." That was a lesson that both the boys had taken to heart, and it was something they spent time doing when they would play with the household staff's children.

They learnt how to fight, first with wooden swords and then when in King's Landing with live steel. Daeron himself was a good swordsman, but Daemon was like the warrior reborn even when they were both boys, any weapon he had in his hand he immediately became skilled and talented at wielding it. On more than one occasion when they would spar in the yard, they would both end up battered and bruised, though when they were younger Daemon would always end up winning, so much so that Daeron began waking up in the early hours of the morning whilst the rest of Winterfell was asleep and would practice with a wooden sword till he felt confident enough to spar with Daemon once more. Now they were able to fight for long periods of time and neither man would give quarter, exchanging victories.

Daemon was always more skilled at talking to girls, his Valyrian looks and natural charms had all the girls swooning and weak-kneed, Daeron himself whilst not a bad looking man, was quite shy, and so struggled to really attract girls. Though when they both came to King's Landing that changed. He and Daemon stuck together initially, but then when Daemon met his other siblings Danaerys and Aegor, and his nephews and nieces he became friendly with them, leaving Daeron to sort of pick up by him. He became friends with one of Princess Aelinor's friends Arianne Yronwood, and began talking with her and moving around with her and her group of friends. It was with her that he had his first kiss, and soon he was falling for her and her for him, much to Daemon and Aegor's amusement.

Aegor was Daemon's half brother on his father's side, but was also Daeron's best friend along with Daemon. When Daemon became infatuated with Danaerys and spent more and more time with her, it was Aegor who took it upon himself to spar and talk and play with Daeron and for that Daeron would always respect and like Aegor. Even if there were times when Aegor infuriated Daeron sometimes with his constant feud with his brother Brynden, over their sister Shiera. Aegor's friendship, was the reason why Daeron always took his side whenever there was a dispute between him and Brynden Rivers, otherwise known as Bloodraven, it was why he never truly got friendly with his cousin King Daeron the good's children other than Maekar.

When his father died, Daeron had been distraught, both he and Daemon had been. They had been spending more time together before the news had come written in Daeron's uncle Artos' sharp and precise hand. And when the news was read out in front of the court, at Queen Myriah Martell's suggestion and then she called his father a savage and a barbarian, something inside Daeron snapped. He spoke back to the Queen, and told her exactly what he thought of her, and her Dornish filth, he paid back every single harsh word and foul look that she had given him during his short time in King's Landing, and when he left with the hall muttering and whispering behind him, he walked out of the throne room with his head held high and he used his anger as his motivation and drive to return to Winterfell.

He came back to Winterfell and found it like a ghost town. His mother looked haunted and sad, his uncle Artos looked haggard and his uncle Beron seemed angry. His siblings except for Cregan did not truly understand what happened to have made their mother, who had always been so strong and so brave, so sad and broken. Daeron did though and so he did his best to ease the burden on his mother, he spent time learning the duties that would be expected of him now as Lord of Winterfell from his uncle Artos, and from Maester Reyne, he dealt justice to the wildlings who had escaped his uncles pursual, and he grew up quickly after coming back. His uncle Artos moved his family into the newly rebuilt Moat Cailin, and Daeron named him and his descendants as defenders of the neck, Daeron gave the ancient Wolf's Den to his uncle Beron and instructed him to begin building a fleet. He did what he could to help his mother raise his younger siblings and all the while he kept in contact with Daemon, Aegor and Arianne.

To Daemon and Aegor he spoke of life in the south, what their brother Daeron the good was doing, and how there was increasing tension within King's Landing and some of the other southern kingdoms due to the increasing Dornish influence at court. Daemon wrote about his frustrations about not being able to marry Danaerys, and being forced to marry a Strickland girl, Daeron wrote his congratulations and apologised for not being able to attend the wedding, for the Queen would be attending the wedding, and after he had left King's Landing, he had sworn that he would never attend an event in the south if the Queen was to be there. To Arianne he wrote of his problems, and fears and his difficulties, and she wrote to him with advice and words of her own problems, and over time they grew closer and closer, so that by the time he was ready and willing to wed and his mother had recovered enough to truly help organise a wedding, he put in an offer for her hand, and when the offer was accepted they were married in the 194th year after Aegon's Landing. Their son Aegor was born nine months later with dark olive skin, dark brown hair and violet eyes.

Daeron also helped arrange the marriages of his other siblings, Cregan his younger brother who since Daemon's stay in the south had become Daeron's right hand man, was married to a Reyne of Castamere and given a keep a day's ride from Winterfell. Velena, he betrothed to their cousin Dagon Greyjoy, their aunt Jeyne's son. Theon and the twins he had decided would be betrothed once things in the kingdom had been settled.

For once the betrothal of Velena and Dagon had been confirmed, they had received a raven from Daemon informing them of his crowning as king and his rebellion against the Iron Throne, as well as a call to arms. Daeron the Good, the King on the Iron Throne had also sent a raven to Winterfell reminding Daeron Stark of the oath of fealty that he had given. Daeron looked at both letters and felt torn between his loyalty to the crown, and his love and loyalty to Daemon, his brother. His uncles Artos and Beron advised caution, they argued that it would be better to wait and see who made the first move, before making any rash decisions, but they of course had families of their own that they had to think of. Cregan argued that they owed it to Daemon to side with him and provide him with the strength of the north. Daeron's own mother urged and begged him to call his banners and fight for his brother. Aegor even sent a raven, reminding Daeron of the friendship that he, Daemon and Aegor shared, and the times that they had all stuck together through thick and thin in King's Landing.

As word came to Winterfell of the first skirmishes being fought in the Reach and the Westerlands, his uncles continued to urge caution, but his bannermen and the people of the north who had seen Daemon riding with Daeron and Lord Willam began crying out for the north to fight for Daemon. Daeron kept his cards close to his chest, and waited, and prayed. He too had a family to look out for and think about now as well, he could not, he would not put Arianne and Aegor's lives in danger simply to satisfy some stuffy southerners, but of course Daemon was not one of those puffy southerners, he was Daeron's brother, and so Daeron walked to the godswood, the place where he could hopefully find answers, find the truth that he was looking for.

He kneeled in front of the heart tree, and prayed. He prayed for guidance, to do the right thing, for how was he to know what to follow, his heart or his head? His honour or his family? As he prayed a light breeze rustled through the trees, the heart tree wept red ,and memories he had thought long forgotten came back to him. Memories of running through the godswood with Daemon, laughing as they stole food from the kitchens to give to their younger siblings, learning how to sword fight, Daemon teaching him a new move with a sword in King's Landing. The look of pride and love on their mother's face when presented her with her nameday gift and the words Lord Willam spoke to them one day long ago. "Honour is important; it is what makes us different from the wildlings. But honour can never beat family, it is family that keeps us warm and safe, it is family that provides us with love and care when we feel beaten. It is family that raises us from the dust, and makes us the stuff of kings."

Daeron Stark opened his eyes, and found his wife looking at him from nearby, getting up he took her arm and walked with her back into the castle and as they went to the nursery he stood in the doorway and watched as she sang to their son and as he watched his son's eyes begin to droop shut from sleep, he knew that there was only one way in which he could make sure that his son and his family and the north remained free. He kissed his wife on the brow and made for his solar, on the way he asked one of the servants to call for Maester Reyne, his mother, his uncles and his brother Cregan. He then entered his solar and sat down in the chair that had been in Winterfell for hundreds of years, and waited for them to come.

When they did come, he bade them sit and spoke. "As you know, my brother Daemon has declared himself king and has rebelled against the Iron Throne. Now, Winterfell is sworn to the Iron Throne through oaths of fealty, but the Iron Throne has done nothing but insult us and degrade my family since the time Baelor the befuddled came to power. Daemon is my brother, and is my blood, and is the rightful king. Maester Reyne call the banners, we march, and the south will know that the North remembers, it is time the Iron Throne remembered as well."


	5. Red Or Black?

**Baelor Breakspear**

War had come to Westeros; it had come on dark wings. Baelor's bastard uncle Daemon Blackfyre had declared himself king and was rebelling against the Iron Throne. Baelor suspected that the rebellion had more to do with the constant whispering that Bittersteel and Fireball had done in Daemon's ear than any actual desire on Daemon's part to be king, though with Daemon it was always hard to tell. Even when they were all much younger, Daemon was always slightly more reserved around Baelor and his siblings, and only truly seemed to show off his more charismatic side when he was with his brother Daeron Stark or when he was with Danaerys. That all changed though when after the tournament in which Daemon was knighted by Baelor's grandfather, after that tournament the charisma that Baelor knew his uncle had began to shine through, and more and more people began to flock to him.

Looking back on it now, it does seem as if that day when Daemon was knighted, was the day when the rumours about whom Baelor's grandfather truly wanted to be king started. Baelor's father was by no means a warrior, for as long as Baelor could remember he had never once seen his father lift up a sword in practice or otherwise, not that Baelor minded much, for his father was a lovely, kind hearted man and was a good king, and an even better father. However, there were some courtiers, Baelor knew, who had feared that his father's academic nature would lessen the influence that they enjoyed during his grandfather's reign, people such as Lord Massey, who had been Baelor's grandfather's right hand man.

The rumours of Baelor's father's illegitimacy Baelor was convinced were not true, he knew, he had to believe that they could not be true, otherwise his father had no right to the throne, and despite being king, Baelor knew that his father if he truly believed that he had no claim to the throne, would step down, and accept his bastard status, thus allowing Daemon and his descendants onto the throne. Despite it being treason to think so, Baelor knew that Daemon himself would not be that bad of a king- he was smart and charismatic- it was just that his advisors were Bittersteel and Fireball, both of whom held grudges against wider Westerosi society, Bittersteel for his bastard status and the fact that Shiera Seastar did not love him, Fireball simply because Fireball had always been an angry man.

When the raven had come to King's Landing announcing what Daemon had done, there had been uproar and chaos and panic in the streets and in court. All of the court had waited and watched with baited breath to see what Baelor's father would do, Baelor himself had not been sure what his father would do. He knew his mother wished for his father to declare war on Daemon, but his mother had never truly taken a shine to Daemon, like his father had. Baelor knew that King Daeron saw Daemon more like a son rather than a brother because of the age gap between them, he also knew that despite whatever he might say in public, it had pained his father to have to give Danaerys to Prince Maron, even though the marriage agreement had been made many years before, Baelor knew that if his father could have had his way, he would have allowed Daemon and Danaerys to marry. But alas, politics dictated otherwise, and so Daemon was married off to a Strickland girl, and sired sons with her- seven if Baelor remembered correctly- and as such the Stricklands, Osgreys, Reynes, and countless other small but powerful houses had declared for Daemon when his initial raven had come. Baelor's brother Maekar, and uncle Bloodraven had been all for fighting Daemon- it was the only thing that they had really ever been able to agree on- whereas Baelor himself had pushed for a pardon for Daemon and the rebels, not Bittersteel or Fireball though, for they all knew that the rebellion truly was their idea not Daemon's. Baelor had been overruled, and so the banners had been called and they had begun the preparations to march for war.

There had been only one small snag, the Starks had not answered ravens from either King's Landing or from Daemon's base in the Reach. Whichever side Winterfell declared for, could possibly end up winning, simply because the houses of the North would follow Winterfell to hell and back if asked to do so, due to an age old loyalty to the Starks, and Baelor knew because of the insults King's Landing had done to Daeron Stark's father and half brother, Daeron Stark himself was a formidable warrior- on par with Daemon- and if he said march, the north in all its glory would march. Countless ravens had been sent to Winterfell, and no response had come, and whilst they dithered in King's Landing waiting for response from Winterfell, Daemon and his army had gone plundering and pillaging through the Reach. Lord Tyrell had been slain, as had his heir, and Highgarden was asking for help still, as Lord Strickland continued destroying their armies with the sizeable force that Daemon had managed to assemble.

Quellon Greyjoy had called his banners and had set sail for the Westerlands, burning the Lannister fleet at Lannisport, and attacking the coastal areas of the Westerlands, whilst Lord Reyne and Fireball led the land armies and attacked Lannisport and the Golden Tooth. By the time the Royalist army had finally assembled in King's Landing, Lord Lefford was dead, Damon Lannister had been grievously injured and close to death, his eldest son dead, slain by Quellon Greyjoy. Lannisport was in flames, as was Fair Isle. Baelor, Maekar and Bloodraven had marched from King's Landing the same day word came from Casterly Rock of the burning of Fair Isle. They took their host and marched through the Riverlands, waiting for Daemon and his army to come, the aim had been to cut them off from Fireball and the Ironborn, when they had marched there still had been no word from Winterfell, and so it had been assumed that Winterfell was remaining neutral throughout the conflict though Baelor had his suspicions that, that was not, could not be the case.

Sure enough as they approached Riverrun, word came from the Twins, writ in Lord Frey's slanting hand writing that Daeron Stark and 20,000 northmen were camped outside his walls with two banners- the red three headed dragon on black of House Targaryen, and the black three headed dragon of Daemon's house- and that Daeron Stark dressed in full plate mail had ridden on a black warhorse with a flaming torch in hand, and had burnt the Targaryen banner. That raven had come some four days ago, since then there had been no news from the Twins, but scraps of information had flown down to Riverrun, but it was all a jumble. Some of the news said that Lord Frey was dead, and that Daeron Stark had sacked the Twins. Other information said that Daeron Stark was dead, killed by his uncle Artos. Other news said that Lord Frey had killed Daeron Stark in single combat, other news said that the Twins had been burnt to the ground and that the northmen were marching south with great haste.

It was all quite confusing, but one thing was for certain, Daeron Stark would not rest until his half brother sat on the Iron Throne, Baelor knew that much about his cousin. Even when they were children, once Daeron had set his mind on something he would not stop until he had achieved it, and so if he had called his banners and was marching south, there was only one thing he could be set on doing- putting Daemon on the Iron Throne- and he would not stop until he was either dead or Daemon sat the Iron Throne, and that was something that Baelor could not allow, and so he, Maekar and Lord Tully sat and made preparations for when their scouts finally saw Daeron Stark and his army. Bloodraven had taken 2,000 men west with him to help Lord Damon and the Westerlands fight off the Ironborn, whether or not they would be successful was a completely different matter entirely. Their spies reported that Daemon and his army were still on the march north, approaching the Riverlands with great speed, something that did quite worry Baelor, because he knew that if Daemon and Daeron's armies joined together, then the royalist effort would be finished. So they sat and planned and waited for more news on Daeron Stark's movements.

Eventually, their scouts reported that Daeron Stark was marching with his army at a great pace. Their scouts also reported that the Twins had surrendered, Daeron Stark had laid siege to it, but had then offered Lord Frey terms- if he surrendered he got to keep his life and his family lived- something about that offer smelt of Lord Artos Stark- Artos Stark was known for being very practical and politically minded, whereas Daeron was not- and so the Twins had surrendered and had added their army to Daeron's giving him an extra 2,000 men. The tidings kept getting worse and worse, as the scouts kept speaking. Armies had been assembled by Lords Blackwood, Vance and Piper, and all had been destroyed by Daeron Stark's northern army, at the battle of Oldstones. Lords Vance and Piper were both dead- slain by Daeron himself- and their armies scattered. To make matters worse, Daemon's army was closing in on the Trident, which would give them a free route to King's Landing unless something was done to stop them.

So it was decided that Maekar would march east to deal with Daemon and his army, with him would go the hand of the king Lord Hayford and the army of King's Landing (some 5,000 men) with him would go Lord Arryn and the armies of the Vale (some 25,000 men). Baelor and Lord Tully would march north to meet and try and stop Daeron's advance. The plans were made, and if they were successful, though it pained him to think of it, both Daeron and Daemon would be dead and the rebellion would be over.

The days ticked by and then it came to the battle day. Baelor put on his armour, said a quick prayer to the seven for guidance and to keep his family- his father, mother, his brothers and sister, his wife and his sons- safe and then mounted his horse. He turned to face Maekar who was also mounted on his horse, lifting his helm he spoke in a deep voice. "Be safe brother, do not do anything too stupid or foolhardy."

Maekar chuckled, the sound resounding. "You as well brother, be safe, and I shall meet you in King's Landing."

And off they marched, Maekar for the east, Baelor for the north. They rode largely in silence, and stopped only when they could see the oncoming mass of men and armour that was the northern army, within the forestry of the Whispering Wood they had the perfect cover, the sun was just about to set. "The plan should work, Your Grace." Lord Tully said.

Baelor said nothing but merely nodded, and then a few moments later several horns sounded in the distance, signalling the beginning of the battle, or ambush. Baelor drew his sword from its sheath and charged. He swung and hacked his way through men bearing various sigils- the flayed man, a merman, a roaring giant, a white sun and a black wolf- he hacked and swung his way through the northmen, cutting a bloody path, behind him he knew the white cloaks of the Kingsguard knights were close behind him.

A giant of a man wielding an axe came charging at him through the trees, Baelor brought his shield up just as the axe came swinging down. He managed to push the axe away and then brought his sword up in time, as the man brought the axe swinging down once more. Sparks began flying off of both weapons, as sword and axe clashed against one another, again and again, around him the battle crashed, men cut and slashed other men to pieces, horses neighed in distress, or in their death throes, men screamed and cried out for their loved ones.

Still Baelor kept his attack up, swinging and hacking at the man, sometimes connecting with his axe, sometimes his shield and other times striking his armour or flesh and drawing blood. The great giant of a man had the same luck with Baelor, and when Baelor finally managed to deal the killing blow they were both soaked through with blood, rain and mud.

He looked around the battlefield and inside his helm grimaced, it seemed there were more northmen still standing than there were Royalists. He turned around when he heard a horse draw up beside him, lifting his helm he saw Ser Willem Wylde of the Kingsguard there before him, concern etched on his face. "Your Grace," he heard the white knight say. "Your Grace we must retreat, they are overpowering us."

Baelor was about to shake his head, when suddenly he saw someone with auburn hair get cut down not so far from himself, he squinted to get a better look at whom it was that had killed the Tully, and found himself looking at a man with a wolf's head helm, a ice white greatsword in his arms coated with blood. Baelor pulled down his helm, sheathed his sword and shouted out for his men to retreat, they would be slaughtered if they kept fighting. As he turned his horse around and spurred it back to Riverrun, he could hear Daeron Stark shouting at him, calling him a coward.

* * *

**Bittersteel**

It had been twelve years since his father had died, twelve long years of hate, pain and heartbreak. Twelve years of injustice, Daemon should have been king when their father had died, not their craven of a brother, the man whom preferred books to swords, the man who went back on all his promises, the man whose wife had insulted Aegor's best friend and his father. No Daeron the good was not worthy of the crown he wore or the throne he sat, even their father had known that, that had been the reason why he had knighted Daemon and had given him Blackfyre upon his death, Blackfyre the sword of kings, given to Daemon a bastard and not to Daeron Targaryen, the heir apparent at the time. Daemon should be king, he would be king, their father had foreseen it that had been why he had had two wills drawn up, one which named Daemon king and the other which didn't. Lord Massey the craven that he was, had torn up the first will and had had it burnt, but not before Aegor had seen it.

Daemon had been reluctant to rebel against their brother, had claimed that Daeron was a good king and that Baelor Breakspear would be the best king Westeros had ever seen. Aegor was not convinced, and had been about to point out all the injustices their brother's family had done to Daemon's adoptive family the Starks, when news reached them in the Reach of their sister Daenaerys' marriage to that Dornish savage. That had set Daemon off, that had been the final straw for Daemon, that had been the thing that had pushed him into agreeing to rebel, to accepting being made king, crowned in the home of his wife's family.

The martially inclined courtiers of their father and brother's courts had flocked to their cause when Daemon had formally announced his rebellion. Men like Robb Reyne (who brought with him some 3000 men) Ser Eustace Osgrey, the Greyjoys had joined their cause, though Aegor knew that was more to do with the fact that Daemon had been fostered in Winterfell, and Quellon Greyjoy viewed Willam Stark as a brother and was married to Daeron Stark's aunt. Daeron had not responded to their first few letters asking for his help, something that truly Aegor thought he should have offered regardless. The longer Daeron's reply took to come, the more frustrated Aegor became, he questioned Daeron's commitment to their friendship, and to his family, considering Daeron and Daemon were brothers. Throughout it all Daemon reassured Aegor and Fireball that his brother would join their cause, it was simply taking him longer than the others because, in the north they were full of honour and duty, and Daeron would be conflicted over what to do.

Whilst they waited for Daeron Stark to decide where his loyalty lay, they began the rebellion with a battle at the Mander. Their army containing some 10,000 Reachmen and some 1,000 Dornishmen courtesy of Mikkel Yronwood fought against Lord Tyrell and his much bigger host. Lord Tyrell though was no tactician, nor were his commanders' warriors, Lord Strickland- Daemon's goodfather- was the most warrior of the whole of the reacherlords, and knew the land around the Mander better than most of his fellow Reachmen. This allowed them to dig pit traps in the mud around the Mander, and when the fighting broke out they kept pushing Lord Tyrell and his men back against the banks of the Mander and toward the traps. Lord Tyrell was slain by Daemon, Aegor slew Lord Tarly, and Lord Strickland slew his foe Lord Florent. The Tyrell heir, Mathis, being the fool he was thought to challenge Daemon to single combat to decide the battle, needless to say that fight lasted very little time and ended with Mathis Tyrell's head rolling in the banks of the Mander.

After the heir to Highgarden's death, the rest of the army led by Lord Rowan surrendered, and they marched further north. There was fighting between the border of the Reach and the Stormlands as Lord Edric Baratheon brought his men down from Storm's End. The fighting did not last too long though, their greater host easily dealt with Edric Baratheon's host, Baratheon, two of his sons and his brother were all killed during the fighting, Daemon then sent Lord Strickland and 3000 men off to lay siege to Storm's End. The main army continued marching north, as they camped on the border between the Riverlands and the Reach; a rider came from Daeron Stark's camp. With him he brought a letter written and signed in Daeron's own hand. The letter spoke of how the Twins were now part of the north, and how he was marching south with great haste to put Daemon and his family on the Iron Throne, it also spoke of the battle Daeron had fought against some of the Riverlords at Oldstones, and the victory he had won there, and of how his uncle Quellon Greyjoy had burnt Fair Isle and the Lannister fleet to the ground, and of Lord Damon Lannister's grave injuries.

After the raven came, Daemon decreed that they would march east to the Trident, to draw Baelor and Maekar away from Riverrun, and to allow Daeron the chance to take Riverrun. Then once that battle had been fought and won they would meet up in the middle and march on King's Landing. And so they marched, they marched through the rain and snow, and through storms and mud, but morale was high, they were winning the rebellion, Daeron the Good's armies were spread thing, Bloodraven had according to their spies gone west with some 2000 men to help the Lannisters deal with the Ironborn and the Reynes, though whether or not he would actually make it to the Westerlands was a completely different question once he heard of what was happening on the Trident. The chance to be the one to kill that albino freak was something that Aegor Rivers deeply cherished and looked forward to. Victory was so close, he could almost taste it.


	6. Fields of Red

**Daeron The Good**

Sometimes, when being king became too much, Daeron Targaryen would retreat back to his private library and sit and read some of the stories his mother used to read to him when he was a child. He knew that if he ever told anyone about this, they would laugh and call him not the Good but the Weak, and that it would only feed the rumours that he was not the true king, and that Daemon was the Warrior come again. That was why he never told anyone where he went when council meetings and discussions with his family became too much, he went there for peace and solidarity, and only Myriah knew what he did during those rare times. This war was beginning to take away the last vestiges of patience that he had for his small council as well, with Baelor and Brynden away fighting, Lord Massey the man who had been his father's closest advisor had become much more of a nuisance than he had been in the years preceding the rebellion.

With each report of a Blackfyre victory, Massey was constantly at Daeron's ear begging him to stop the fighting and to welcome Daemon back to the fold. Daeron had his suspicions as to why Lord Massey was so keen for Daemon to be pardoned, and they did revolve around a certain piece of paper that his father had allegedly written before his death. Each time Massey asked him to end the war and pardon Daemon, the stronger Daeron's will to win grew, he would not let Daemon- as much as he loved his brother- destroy the kingdoms by becoming king, for Daeron knew that it would not be Daemon who would truly rule, no that would fall to Bittersteel and Fireball, and both men were too full of anger and bitterness to truly and effectively rule. If it were Daeron Stark who would become Daemon's right hand man- and Daeron knows that this is a treacherous thought and would undermine all he has worked for- then perhaps he would not be so reluctant to allow Daemon back into the fold, but of course Daeron Stark had made it very clear during his last few days in King's Landing and in that letter he wrote from the Twins that he had no intention of ever living in the south again.

Daeron is still haunted by the words that were spoken in the throne room when news came of Lord Willam's death. Of the pure loathing that he could hear in Myriah's voice when she spoke of Lord Willam Stark, of the pure hurt and anger in Daeron Stark's voice and posture when he promised revenge. He was getting that revenge now, he had burnt the Targaryen sigil in front of the Crossing- the beginning of his revenge- and then he had laid waste to the Twins, and then at Oldstones he had destroyed Lords Piper, Vance and Mallister's armies. And then he had marched for Riverrun, Baelor and Lord Tully had taken some of the royalist forces to meet him before he could get to Riverrun, and their sources had reported a fierce battle in the Whispering Wood, a very fierce battle. Stark had slain Lord Tully, and his brother Cregan had killed Lord Tully's heir. The royalist army had scattered when it became apparent that victory was not on the cards, of Baelor there had been no word, he had been last seen fighting one of the northmen, bleeding profusely, but still standing.

The news that Baelor was missing- potentially dead- had destroyed Myriah, his wife who was so fragile of health as of late, there was a sickness in her that the maesters were struggling to find a cure for, and the disease was eating her alive. Her once rich and healthy skin had become deathly pale, and her hair, her luscious black hair was turning grey and falling out at an alarming rate. Daeron did know where the sickness had come from, they were in the middle of one of the warmest summers he had ever known and that some at the Citadel thought was the long summer come, there was little to no illness in the kingdoms or in King's Landing, though of course the kingdoms were bleeding through war. And with their children out there leading the royalist effort, Daeron knew that Myriah was sick with worry, fearing that they would receive word of some catastrophe, hells he even felt sick with worry, he loved his children dearly, he truly did, but he also loved Daemon dearly, and he could not bear to think of what would come of Daemon should he lose this war, nor did he truly wish to know what would come of him and his family should they lose the war.

He had spent many a night since the rebellion had begun trying desperately to think of why Daemon would rebel. Daemon had never shown any sort of anger or resentment at being bastard born, as far as Daeron could tell, he had grown up first in Winterfell, as the loved and cared for adoptive son of Lord Willam Stark, he had grown up in a loving and caring environment in Winterfell with Daeron Stark, and then when he had come to King's Landing so had Daeron Stark, the two of them had always been thick as thieves, and then the two of them had become friends with Aegor, and had gotten up to more mischief. Never throughout the time when Daemon was in King's Landing had he ever shown any signs of resentment. Though once news had come from the north of his adoptive father's death, and Myriah had said those words, and Daeron Stark had left for the north, there had most certainly been an edge or an angry gait to his walk, and he held himself like a man with lots to prove.

It did not help Daeron thought, that Aegor had taken up the place that Daeron Stark had once held, as Daemon's right hand man, and had begun whispering in his ear, about his rights and what was being denied to him. Aegor had thought he was being very subtle by whispering in the places in King's Landing and out in the lands that Daemon had been given by their father, but Daeron had men everywhere, men who were loyal to the crown and to him, and Brynden had men who were loyal, and they reported all of that which Aegor spoke of. It had been with great reluctance that Daeron had had to deny Daemon and Danaerys to one another, there had been a pact sealed in ink and blood when Daeron had married Myriah that needed to be honoured, and Myriah's nephew was of an age with Danaerys and was to be her husband. Daeron knew, of course he knew, -his two siblings were like his children- that Daemon and Danaerys were in love with each other, and that they wished to marry, but he also knew that he could not risk offending the Dornish by allowing them to marry, nor could he truly risk allowing them to marry, for the whisperings that Aegor was putting into Daemon's ear were getting more and more treacherous by the day. And so he decided that Daemon would marry a Strickland girl, Delena her name was, and he hoped and prayed that Daemon would come to love his wife as much as he loved Danaerys.

Delena had given Daemon seven sons and three daughters, and yet Daeron knew that Daemon still wanted Danaerys, and so it was with deep regret that he formally announced her marriage to Prince Maron Martell. That was when Daemon rebelled and called for war. The Reach was the first to bleed, House Strickland rallied behind Daemon, as did House Osgrey, House Ambrose, House Bulwer and House Cockshaw all rebelled and joined Daemon's cause, and at the Mander Daemon proved himself to be a skilled commander as well as a warrior, defeating and killing the inept Lord Tyrell and his heir. That display earnt Daemon the respect of Lord Rowan, the only remaining commander of the royalist forces in the Reach, and so Daemon got another 20,000 men, and Daeron saw hope begin to slip.

Storm's End had been under siege by Lord Strickland but Daeron's spies reported that the man had led his armies north to the Trident to follow Daemon and Aegor and their army as they went to meet and do battle with Maekar and Lord Hayford's forces. Quentyn Ball and House Reyne and House Tarbeck and the Greyjoys had plundered and attacked the Westerlands, Damon Lannister- one of the men that both Daeron and his father had respected- was lying injured in Casterly Rock from a battle with his friend Quellon Greyjoy. Daeron knew that Lannister had been reluctant to fight against his old friend or even against Willam Stark's sons, and so despite the immense loathing that he felt for himself for doing so, Daeron had taken two of Lannister's sons as hostages and had decided to keep them in King's Landing until the war was over, to ensure the man's loyalty.

The Westerlands were burning though, the Ironborn were going on a full scale rampage, plundering, pillaging and raping to their hearts content. Brynden had marched with 2000 men from Riverrun to deal with them, as of yet there had been no news from him on that front, though Daeron did suspect that perhaps the Ironborn would retreat back to the Iron Islands at some point soon- he may not be great with weapons, but he did know a fair bit of military strategy- and he knew that the Ironborn were not made for long term warfare, they would burn themselves out on raping and pillaging, and then they would return back to their homes. He could only hope and pray that they would burn out before the final battle that he knew, that he could sense was coming.

As had often been happening since the rebellion had broken out, Daeron found his thoughts wondering back to the rumours that seemed to have started it all. Those who did not like him, nor the direction his reign and court had been going, had latched onto a rumour that some blasted singer had started after being in his cups for too long one night, that he Daeron Targaryen second of his name, was not the true King of Westeros, that he was in actual fact the bastard son of his uncle Prince Aemon the Dragonknight and his mother Queen Naerys. The singers often sang songs of his uncle's doomed love for his mother, and when he had been little and seeking male affection that his father never seemed willing to give, he had gone up to his uncle and asked him whether or not he- Daeron- was his- Aemon's- son. His uncle's expression, usually so stoic and unreadable had flickered into something that seemed like despair and then hurt, and then anger, but of course Daeron had been too young to see the subtle changes then, but as he had gotten older he had found it curious, his uncle of course had brushed off Daeron's question and told him, that no he was not his father, merely his uncle.

Daeron had never plucked up the courage to ask his mother, his mother who had had to put up with so much hurt and suffering, his mother who had stayed by Daeron's side when he had been an insecure boy growing up, his mother who had been there to comfort him when the other boys at court had mocked him for preferring books than swords. His mother, who until he had met Myriah had been the strongest person he had ever met, who had put up with all the slanders that his father had dealt her with his many mistresses, and the bastards that had appeared as a result of these whims his father had had. His mother who had died broken and tired, his mother whom he had lost, his mother...

King Daeron II's thoughts were interrupted by a soft knocking at the door, looking up he saw Ser Terrence Appleton of the Kingsguard standing there looking nervous. Daeron looked at him enquiringly. Appleton swallowed and said "Your Grace, I know you asked not to be disturbed but Grand Maester Lewyn is asking for you. He says its to do with her grace the Queen."

* * *

**Daemon Blackfyre**

The air smelt crisp, a slight breeze was passing through the camp. Somewhere off to the north was the Trident, glittering in the summer sun, Daemon Blackfyre- the King Who Bore the Sword- looked around the camp and nodded to himself, the banners of House Strickland, House Rowan, House Osgrey, House Ambrose, House Cockshaw, House Reyne, House Tarbeck, House Yronwood, House Peake and House Costayne flew around the camp. The Lothstons had turned their cloak once more, and had gone back to the Targaryens for fear of a reprisal should Daemon not emerge victorious in the battle to come. Aegor had suggested marching on Harrenhal and teaching them a lesson when the raven had come, but Daemon had decided against that, it would not do to have their army spread out so thinly with the royalist forces so close at hand. No they would fight Maekar and whoever else it was that would be fighting for his brother today and they would defeat them and then they would take King's Landing and end the dynasty of Viserys II once and for all.

Daemon took out the letter from his pocket that had arrived last night, the letter had come from his brother Daeron Stark, and within it his brother wrote of his victory in the battle of the Whispering Wood, he wrote of the deaths of Lord Edwyn Tully and his heir Tytos, he wrote of the scattering of the royalist army that had come with Prince Baelor- the fact that Baelor had not marched with Maekar from Riverrun still surprised Daemon, he had honestly not thought his nephew capable of falling for such an obvious trap- Daeron also wrote of Baelor's injuries and how he was being held in a prison camp. Daemon found himself impressed and proud of his little brother's achievements. Taking the Twins, smashing a Riverlands host at Oldstones and now defeating an army led by warriors as renowned as Baelor and Lord Edwyn Tully, yes his brother had definitely proved himself, worthy of being a Stark and of succeeding their father as Lord of Winterfell. Once this war was over and he sat the Iron Throne, Daemon fully intended on giving his brother and their family the recognition that they were long overdue and that had not been forthcoming during Daeron Targaryen's reign.

Daemon still felt the old anger boil inside of him whenever he thought back to that day when the raven had come from Winterfell informing them of Lord Willam Stark's death, he remembered the pure mirth that had been in Queen Myriah's voice when she spoke of how fitting it was that a savage such as Daemon and Daeron's father had been killed by savages, he still remembered how angry and upset Daeron had been, he remembered the promise of vengeance that Daeron had made before he had left the capital twelve years ago. _Soon brother, soon we shall have our vengeance for the insults they have done to father, to mother to the North. _Daemon thought, and he could not help but feel his pulse quicken at the thought of plunging Blackfyre into Maron Martell's heart as well, the man who would think to take Danaerys away from him.

He had known ever since he could walk and talk properly, that Danaerys was meant to marry some Dornish prince, but he had never truly been able to accept it. Danaerys was so beautiful, she looked like the sun and the moon, and she was the maiden come to life. She did not deserve to have to rot away in some Dornish desert with a man who would not love her, simply because of some pact their fool of an uncle had made to bring Dorne into the Seven Kingdoms. Daemon still remembers speaking with King Aegon- the man may have sired him but Lord Willam would always be his father- about the possibility of marrying Danaerys when they were older, King Aegon had laughed mirthlessly in front of his courtiers and told him that such a thing would not be possible, for Daemon was merely a lowly bastard, not a fit match for a princess of the blood, feeling sad and dejected Daemon had been about to leave when suddenly the king had dismissed his courtiers and had asked Daemon to sit down, and in hushed tones had told him that he was working on making the Dornish match go away and that if he had his way Daemon and Danaerys would be able to marry.

Daemon had left that day feeling very, very happy, but then King Aegon had died and Daeron Targaryen had come to the throne, and with him had come the poison of Dorne, with him Daemon's dreams of marrying Danaerys had gone up in smoke. Daeron had had him married off to Delena Strickland, and whilst Delena was a lovely woman and had borne him many children, he could not find it in himself to love her more than he loved Danaerys, and it was the one failing of his life that he deeply regretted. Delena was such a beauty and was so nice and kind that she deserved someone who could make her feel loved and like a queen that she deserved to be, she did not deserve to be stuck with a man still pining after another woman. That was not to say that Daemon was not fond of her or did not like her, oh no he was very fond of her and liked her a lot, it was just that he could not bring himself to feel anything more for her. Of course he loved their children though all of them, Aegon and Aemon who were his squires and promising warriors, Daemon who was the bookish one, Haegon who reminded him startlingly of Maekar, Daeron who reminded Daemon of his brother Daeron Stark and was another warrior in the making, Maegon who reminded Daemon of Cregan a lot and Aegor the baby of the family. And his daughters, Sara, Shiera and Delena, all of them he loved fiercely and he itched to see them again, he desperately did, but the only way he could see them now was to win this war and take King's Landing.

He was confident that they could win the battle today and with it the war. Baelor was a prisoner, Bloodraven was nowhere to be found and Maekar and his men looked like they were about to starve to death according to Daemon's spies. Furthermore, the Reach had all but fallen to their efforts, Lord Tyrell and his heir were both dead, the new Lord of Highgarden was nothing more than a babe at the breast, and Highgarden itself was fastly becoming a smoking ruin, Damon Lannister had been lying injured in the Rock for three moons now, the Greyjoys had answered Daeron's call to arms with much vigour and the Westerlands were a smoking ruin now. The Stormlands were quickly falling under Blackfyre control after Lord Baratheon's death and the death of his son and heir, the other houses of the Stormlands were either surrendering or being forced to swear loyalty to him, and Daeron was conquering the Riverlands one castle at a time and most likely would hold Riverrun by the end of today, yes he was confident and had every reason to be.

Daemon put the letter back into his pocket and headed back into his tent, it was time to don his armour. Calling for his sons Aegon and Aemon to help him, he began fastening the different pieces of armour onto his body, all the while going through the plans for the battle that would take place today. Aegor would take the right, Ser Robb Reyne would command the left, and Daemon would personally see to the leadership of the Van, the reserve would have been commanded by Fireball but Daemon's old mentor had been slain by Bloodraven on the eve of today's battle, so instead Ser Eustace Osgrey would lead the reserve, the man was capable but whether or not he would be able to hold his nerve was something that would be interesting to see, though Daemon was still not sure whether or not he truly wished to gamble the full battle – should it come to it- on a man whose whims were famous throughout Westeros. Once his armour was on he said one final word to his sons. "Aegon, Aemon. Today we shall stand and fight for what is ours by right, today we shall fight to rid Westeros of the vipers that plague. Know that no matter what happens today that I am and always have been proud of both of you, and know that I love you with all I have," his sons nodded, though he could see Aemon almost welling up with tears. "Go now and prepare Aegon send for Aegor I would speak with him before we begin." His sons nodded and headed out for their separate ways.

Daemon sat down in his tent, dressed in full armour except for his dragon winged helm which lay on the bed beside him, and waited for his half brother to arrive. Aegor was one of his closest friends, but though they shared the same blood, they were nowhere as close as Daemon and Daeron were, though that was to be expected, for both Daemon and Daeron had grown up together and had always had each other's backs through thick and thin. He was still confident though, that should anything happen to him today, that Aegor would do what he could to ensure that his children were protected and kept safe. A guard outside his tent announced Aegor's presence and so Daemon stood up to greet his half brother.

They clasped hands and Aegor said "You called for me Your Grace."

Daemon nodded. "Sit brother, I would speak with you."

Aegor did as he was bid and Daemon sat down soon after. "Today we fight the most important battle of this war, I have had dreams of the possibilities that could come from today. As you know Daeron has defeated the royalist army commanded by Baelor Breakspear, and holds the man prisoner, so we will not have to worry about their army coming to chase us in the rear. Still Lord Arryn and Hayford have command of the Van and the left. Maekar has the right, so you will be facing him, and Bloodraven is marching even as we speak. I do not trust the man, and fear he may use some treachery to ensure a loyalist victory. Should something happen to me today, I want your solemn vow that you will take my children away from Westeros for a time, until you can build up enough support for them to come back and reclaim what is ours by right. Daeron will help you, I know he will, but the voyage north will be long and treacherous. Should I fall, take Aegon and Aemon with you, take them far from here."

Daemon paused for a moment to allow Aegor time to digest what he had said. After a moment of silence his half brother nodded and said "I will do as you command Your Grace, though I do not think such a plan will need to come into action."

Daemon nodded his thanks and then replied, "Go now Aegor, get ready, we march in peak."

Aegor left his tent and Daemon put on his helmet and grabbed Blackfyre from where it rested and attached it to his armour in its sheath. He walked out of his tent and got onto the horse that Aegon and Aemon had saddle for him, then he waited for them to mount their own horses, and once that was done he spurred his horse onto where the men who made up the van waited for him. He stopped before them and looked at them, 15,000 men made up the van of the Blackfyre army for this battle, some bore the coats of arms of minor but powerful houses in the Westerlands, the Reach and Dorne but all bore the sigil of House Blackfyre, the black dragon on a field of red. Raising his visor so that he could speak, Daemon swallowed once and then spoke. " Men, today we come to fight a foe that believes itself in the right. Today we come to fight a foe that houses vipers who would corrupt Westeros to their unholy ways. Today we come to fight, to right a wrong that has been done to us, to my family and to yours. Today we fight and today we win!" The answering roar of approval from the men was nigh on deafening, but Daemon felt his blood begin to sing, this was what he was born to do, not the innate politicking of court, no fighting and sparring was what he was made for.

He drew Blackfyre from its sheath and raised it toward the sun and in a loud and commanding voice shouted, "Men of Westeros... CHARGE!" And so the battle began. The two armies crashed into one another, Daemon swung his sword once and cleaved a man in half, he swung his sword again and his opponent lost his head, he swung his sword again and this time the foe lost an arm. Soon he came face to face with a man bearing the falcon of House Arryn; this was the loyalist van then. Daemon and the man charged at one another. The falcon man swung his sword but Daemon blocked the swing on his shield, and then pushed the man's sword out of the way and swung across the man and struck true, denting the man's armour.

The man swung fiercely in retaliation but his strokes were wild and without refinement, and so where they were intended to strike Daemon's body, they only succeeded in striking his shield and sword. Daemon was more successful in his fight back, swinging his sword like the warrior himself, he swung and hit his target once and dented the man's armour, he swung and struck his target twice and dented the man's armour above his heart, he swung a third time and his sword buried itself deep inside the man's chest, piercing through the armour and into the skin beneath. When Daemon pulled his sword out it was covered in blood, the man of House Arryn fell from his horse blood spurting from the wound Daemon had made.

Daemon spurred his horse forward, and cut down any man who came in his path. A deft swing here, a forceful hack there, and soon the bodies began to pile up behind him as the men who fought for the Targaryens began to fall like flies. Blood coated his sword and it littered the ground which drank it greedily like a drunk at a bar. Around him the battle raged like a tide coming in, the sound of steel on steel screeched from every corner of the field where they fought. The sound of men fighting and dying, the screams as the wounded cried out for their loved ones rang loudly in Daemon's ears even as he put more and more men to death and sent them to meet the stranger.

The next man he came up against who truly deserved his respect was Wyl Waynwood, a man of good repute but still no match for Daemon on this day. The two men circled each other, and it was Waynwood who made the first move swinging his sword like a mad man, Daemon swerved to the right causing Waynwood to overbalance slightly, something that Daemon took full advantage of slicing at Waynwood's bottom half, cutting through the man's armour and drawing blood. Waynwood retaliated with a fierce assault slicing, hacking and swinging like his life depended on it, and it did Daemon supposed. Some of his attacks range true cutting Daemon in several places and denting his armour. But Daemon was still the better fighter, more controlled and more able to preserve his best for when it mattered. With a quick feint to the left and then to the right he had confused Waynwood and then when he lunged forward Blackfyre outstretched Waynwood only realised what Daemon had done to him when it was too late and Blackfyre had pierced through his chest and his blood was gushing out of the wound in his chest and onto the ground.

Daemon pulled his sword out of Waynwood and said a quick prayer to the Old Gods that the man's soul found peace in the afterlife, before he spurred his horse forward, and found himself face to face with the Knight of the Ninestars. They circled round each other, both sizing the other man up, before the Knight of Ninestars spurred his horse forward and lunged forward so suddenly that Daemon was caught unawares and hissed painfully as he felt the man's sword strike his gauntlet and felt blood begin to pour out of the wound in his left hand. The cut made it slightly difficult to keep a solid hold on Blackfyre, but Daemon managed and was able to get the Knight of Ninestars back in kind, swinging his sword like a man possessed, he swung and swung and the more he swung the further back he pushed the Knight of Ninestars, and the more damage he did to the man's body and horse, so that by the time Daemon stopped to catch his breath the blood was still flowing from his cut but the Knight of Ninestars was a shredded wreck on the ground bleeding from so many cuts and wounds on his body and face and person in general that he would be unrecognizable once the battle was done. Daemon rode on.

Around him the battle still raged, it seemed to be going well for the men of the Vale seemed to be severly depleted compared to how they had been when the fight had begun, but Daemon could not be too sure. So he spurred his horse on further and soon found himself face to face with Ser Gwayne Corbray of the Kingsguard, one of the fiercest and best fighters in Daeron Targaryen's Kingsguard. The two men spurred their horses forward and met in a clash of steel, finally there was an opponent who would be worth Daemon's while. They exchanged blows, Blackfyre hit Lady Forlorn, and Lady Forlorn hit Blackfyre. Blackfyre hit Corbray's armour, denting and scratching it, Lady Forlorn hit Daemon's armour and dented it. Daemon swung and hit Corbray's shield, Corbray swung and hit Daemon's shield.

This process happened for what seemed like hours but it was perhaps no longer than a few minutes, but eventually it was Daemon who managed to break through the cycle feinting to his right drawing Corbray out from his comfort zone and thrusting Blackfyre up in an arc and piercing Corbray above his right leg, when Daemon pulled his sword out the man was bleeding from a deep wound and was panting heavily. Daemon went to hit Corbray in the chest but found Corbray had lifted Lady Forlorn up and managed to block his swing, locking them in a stalemate as both men tried to force the other to break away or give up.

Steel on steel screeched in Daemon's head, as sparks began to fly from both men's interlocked swords; both men were putting all their strength into the swords trying to push the other man out of the combat. Eventually Daemon won out, and managed force Corbray down with a mighty push that caused sparks to come flying from both swords. The push was so strong that Corbray fell from his horse and his helmet came off when he hit the ground; Daemon to make the fight fairer dropped down from his own horse and advanced on Corbray hand raised out to help the knight up. By the time he got close to Corbray the man was already up and had Lady Forlorn raised and so their dance began once more.

They charged at one another, gone were the forms of convention and propeity that had dictated their earlier duel, now this was something primal, some base instinct. Steel hit steel and sparks flew as both men pushed the other to their limits. Corbray nicked Daemon's armour thrice, once above his heart, once above the same cut he had made earlier and once in his chest. Daemon struck Corbray in the chest, in the eyes, in the stomach and in other places as well, so that by the time Corbray finally managed to knock Daemon's helmet off of his face, the man was bleeding heavily in several places and one of his eyes was swollen and closed and bleeding profusely.

Daemon felt tired now, his body and limbs ached, all he wanted was a nice hot bath and to hold Delena in his arms, funny how he had thought he didn't love her, when in the midst of battle, all he could truly think of was her, and her brown hair and olive skin, and her lips and... He had no more time to daydream Corbray had swung at him and Daemon had just managed to avoid having some part of himself hacked off by raising his shield up in time. He responded by pushing Lady Forlorn out of Corbray's hands and then raising Blackfyre up quick enough that he was able to pierce Corbray's other eye before the man could raise his shield.

Corbray fell to his knees, battered and bloody, blind in both eyes and cuts all over his face and dents all over his armour. But Daemon acknowledged the man's bravery and honour and called for Redtusk, when the big burly man came forward he said in as kingly a voice as he could manage given how exhausted he was "Take Ser Gwayne to the rear Redtusk and have our maesters see to his wounds." Redtusk bowed and helped Ser Gwayne to his feet and toward the rear.

Daemon watched them go and tried to catch his breath but before he could so much as look round for his sons, he heard an arrow whiz by and heard someone scream in pain, and felt his gut clench... Aegon. He turned toward the sound of the scream, and sure enough there was his son Aegon kneeling on the ground an arrow protruding from his throat, blood pooling at his feet. Daemon screamed, "Aegon! Aemon where are you?" His second son Aemon came running, Daemon turned to him and said "Find Aegor Aemon, find him and stay with him."

Aemon protested "What about Aegon father? What about you? I can't, I won't leave you alone father!"

Daemon would not hear it. "No go Aemon, I will be fine, I must help Aegon. Go find Aegor and stay with him, when this is done I will find you. I promise." And so Aemon reluctantly ran off into the distance with Addam Osgrey and Ser Lewyn Ambrose following him.

Daemon drew Blackfyre from its sheath and walked toward his eldest son. But as he got closer to his son, Daemon felt a sharp pain in his back and legs, straining he saw that there were arrows protruding from those parts of his body, shaking his head he marched on forward determined to reach his son even if it killed him. Just as he was about to reach Aegon to help him, he felt an arrow pierce his neck, and then another arrow pierced the top of his right leg forcing him down to the ground. The world was beginning to go black, the ground was moving to quick for his liking, and he could taste the blood in his mouth, he tried to speak to call for Aegon to get up and run, but his vision went blurry and his words would not form, he blinked heavily, and tried to get up but before he could another arrow pierced his skin and this time the pain was too much. Daemon fell head face into the ground and moved no more, blood pooled around him and still the battle raged.


	7. Kings Fall and Kings Rise

**Bloodraven**

Daemon Blackfyre was dead, his body was strewn across the ground from Brynden and yet he still could not believe what he was seeing, nor could he truly believe what he had done. Whilst Daemon had been engaged in a fierce duel with Ser Gwayne Corbray of the Kingsguard, Brynden and his Raven's Teeth had climbed up the weeping ridge, and had found a suitable position from which to litter the Blackfyre troops with arrows. It had been pure chance and luck that he had spotted the personal banner of Daemon flying in the wind as he had knocked his bow ready to release the first arrow. He had known that if he could injure or kill Daemon then the rebellion was as good as over, for his brother had only children no grown heirs and no lord in their right mind would fight for a child when there was a grown man with proven military skill waiting to succeed their father as king.

The question had been how to kill Daemon, his brother had been fighting like the warrior in human form, killing all who thought to challenge him, he had cut down Wyl Waynwood and the Knight of Ninestars as well Lord Arryn's heir, and then he had severly wounded Ser Gwayne, but Daemon had always had one weakness, he was too chivalrous. Instead of leaving Ser Gwayne there to rot and die like any other would be king would have done, he insisted on protecting the knight until he could get one of his own men to escort Ser Gwayne to the rear to be seen to. That was where Brynden had found his opportunity, knocking his bow he had fired an arrow, but it had gone too far and instead of striking Daemon it had struck Daemon's son Aegon killing the boy, Brynden had felt some remorse when he had realised what had happened, no child should have to die for their parents sin. But then Daemon had made to move toward his dead son, and so Brynden had taken advantage of the next movement that Daemon had made and had fired off several arrows and had had his Raven's Teeth fire at Daemon. Daemon Blackfyre had died with so many arrows buried deep within his body that Brynden had been surprised he had managed to survive for as long as he had. Then again Daemon had always been stubborn and brave.

Brynden was shaken out of his thoughts by the sound of deafening roar. Turning his head he saw a massive army coming towards himself and the Raven's Teeth, looking closer at the men who seemed to be charging at them he realised that it was his other half brother Bittersteel who was leading the charge. "Ravens draw your bows, we have company." He barked. He knocked his bow and fired out arrow after arrow, trying desperately to slow his half brother's advance, he watched as the men fighting for the Blackfyres fell down to the ground, arrows buried in their bodies, their blood adding to the ever growing redness of the field where the battle had been thought. And yet Bittersteel did not stop the charge, no matter that his men were falling all around him, there were Targaryen men still present guarding the ridge where Brynden and his archers stood, and they were cut down by Bittersteel and his men, Bittersteel was fighting like a man possessed showing each and every single skill that he had as a warrior.

Realising that Bittersteel would likely not stop the charge and that unless he did something there would likely be a massive loss of life Brynden drew Dark Sister from its sheath and began stepping down from the ridge calling for his men to do the same. He met the first Blackfyre assailant head on, swinging his sword in a massive arc and bringing it down in one swift motion, cleaving the man's head from his body. He stepped over the man's fallen body and continued on his path toward Bittersteel, his blood was beginning to sing with anticipation. He swung and hacked a bloody path through the remaining Blackfyre soldiers, cleaving maybe three or four soldiers' heads off, cutting of a few hands and arms and maybe a few legs and burying Dark Sister deep within a few soldiers as he went. He paused briefly and looked up to see Bittersteel doing the same, truly fighting like a man possessed, cleaving his way through the Targaryen soldiers still remaining, his sword stained red, the ground stained red and black.

It was Bittersteel who spoke first when they came face to face with weapons in hand for the first time in many, many years. "Kingslayer, traitor." He snarled. "You fought for the wrong side brother, you killed your king, and you killed your brother and your nephew. You are cursed in the eyes of gods and men now." Bittersteel spat into the ground to show his distaste of Brynden.

Brynden said nothing; silence had always been the key to coming out on top when dealing with Bittersteel he had come to realise over the years.

Bittersteel snorted. "Nothing to say brother? Too ashamed to admit what you have done. No matter, when I have killed you, it won't matter. Shiera shall be mine then, and she won't be under whatever foul spell you have put her under." Still Brynden said nothing, though the mention of Shiera had rankled something inside of him, Bittersteel was deluded if he ever thought their sister would ever willingly join him. "Very well if you will not say anything let us settle this with steel." Bittersteel said, the old hint of anger creeping into his voice as he drew his sword.

Brynden drew Dark Sister, and out the corner of his eye noticed how it glistened red in the pale sunlight. He and Bittersteel circled around each other, both men trying to tempt the other into making the first move, the first mistake. Bittersteel had never truly been the most patient of men and therefore it was no surprise that it was he who made the first move, lunging to his left and pushing Brynden back even though he had raised his shield in time to block the blow of Bittersteel's sword. Bittersteel moved away then pulling his sword with him, and their circling continued. The ground was covered with blood, and as such was very slipper and so both men were taking care not to make any sudden movements which of course made it very easy to predict what they were going to do.

This therefore meant that whenever either man moved forward to make a blow, the other man would have enough time to raise their shield or their sword and block the other's strike. Eventually though, both men's shields were broken and tattered and ended up being discarded, and that was when the real battle began. Brynden advanced forward and struck Bittersteel on his left shoulder, denting the armour there. Bittersteel grunted and retaliated by feinting to the left and then bringing his sword sharply up and striking Brynden on his right shoulder, denting the armour so badly that blood began to pour out of the crack that had appeared.

Brynden moved to the side when Bittersteel made to swing again and ended up using Dark Sister to block his half brother's attempt at splitting his ribs, sparks flew from their swords as the sound of steel on steel screeched loudly in the field. They broke contact only for Bittersteel to begin a series of fierce and quick thrusts and jabs at Brynden, some of which struck their mark and dented his armour and opened fresh wounds on his body, others of which struck his sword and caused even more sparks to fly from their swords.

Eventually Brynden managed to find a way to break through Bittersteel's frantic attacks; he moved back when Bittersteel jabbed to Brynden's right causing Bittersteel to wobble slightly due to the force with which he had gone in for the jab. Seizing on the opportunity which had presented itself, Brynden quickly brought Dark Sister up and struck Bittersteel on the face, cutting him and drawing blood. Once Bittersteel had been forced to move back, due to the force of the blow, Brynden advanced forward Dark Sister drawn and began his own attack, swinging and jabbing at his brother with as much grace and forcefulness as even Daemon could have managed. It largely worked, every time Brynden swung his sword he struck true, and either dented Bittersteel's armour or opened a fresh wound on his body, so that by the time he had moved back to catch his breath, not only were they both breathing very, very heavily they were also both stained red with blood and their armour was also dented very heavily in several places, their swords were stained red and the ground was littered with droplets of blood.

And still Bittersteel did not stop, he moved forward with sword raised and hacked once more at Brynden, this time going straight for his head, Brynden managed to duck just in time so that Bittersteel's sword whooshed over his head, and when Bittersteel went to bring his sword back down, Brynden kneed his brother in the stomach winding him, and causing him to drop to his knees. With his brother lying there on his hands and knees, blood pouring from several wounds on his face and person Brynden staggered back, feeling the weight of what he was about to do truly hit him, he had never really liked Bittersteel, but the man was kin, they shared the same father, seven hells even he and Daemon had shared the same father! He drew Dark Sister and raised it high above himself ready to bring the blade down, when Bittersteel spoke.

"Brother," Bittersteel sputtered. "Wait, please brother wait."

Brynden hesitated Dark Sister hovered awkwardly in the air. Bittersteel went on. "I know we have not always got on, and that we have fought for the opposite sides during this war, but before you kill me know this, I have always respected and admired you. Live a good life brother."

Brynden felt something build in his throat, what is was he could not say, but suddenly he felt a strange urge to go and help Bittersteel to his feet so that the man could live for another day, the urge was completely mad. But still he found his feet bringing him to stand before Bittersteel and he found himself stretching out his hand, offering to help his brother up.

He only felt something was off when Bittersteel grabbed his hand, and instead of getting up pulled him down and laughed manically, and drew a small dagger from his person and said "Oh Bloodraven you fool." Then all he felt was pain, a blinding pain as the dagger was plunged into his eye, and then he fell backwards onto the dirt and darkness engulfed him.

_In the darkness he dreamed. He dreamed of Shiera, and the warm nights they would spend together in King's Landing making love to one another and talking about what they wanted from the world. He dreamed of his mother, well what little he remembered of his mother, and how she would always sing to him before he went to bed, he also dreamed of his father and the disapproval that always seemed to be there in his eyes whenever he looked at Brynden, as if he was ashamed of having made such an 'abomination'. Then he dreamed of Daemon, his brother, the boy he had been in King's Landing and the games they had played with Daemon's brother Daeron, and how it had been Daemon who had first made him feel accepted for who he was and not what he was, and then Daemon's face when the arrows had pierced his body came floating into his vision and Brynden screamed as he saw his brother's corpse begin to rot and worms and other horrors began to flow out of it. Then there was Daeron, his brother, the one who had made Brynden a man, the one who had always loved and respected him. Brynden dreamt another dream, a more real dream a dream he understood. He saw the smoking ruins of Lannisport after the Ironborn had come and raped and pillaged there, he saw the bodies of the men he had taken with them after the battle with the Ironborn and the rebel Westerlords. He heard the crying and the screams of the dying men and the cries of the women and children as the Ironborn came back with more strength, and inside Brynden Rivers began to sob, he had not been able to save them all, he had failed them._

_Then he saw a stunted creature with red eyes, eyes like his, standing in front of a weirwood tree with its hand out, as if asking Brynden to come and join it. "Brynden" the voice seemed to whisper. "Brynden, wake up." The voice whispered, and Brynden wanted to say that he didn't wish to wake up, he was having too strange a dream and if he woke up he would have to face the complexities of real life and he was not sure that he was ready just yet for that. But the voice was insistent._

Four days after the Battle of what would later be called Redgrass Field – for the amount of blood spilt there- Brynden Rivers woke up in a tent and found himself surrounded by the commanders of the Royalist army who had survived the battle, there standing at the foot of his bed was Maekar his face seemed older and more dishevelled, next to him was Lord Jonos Arryn, heavily bandaged as he was the man still cut an imposing figure , and there standing very close to Brynden was Shiera, Brynden had to blink several times to make sure he was not imagining what he was seeing, how had she got here?

It was Maekar who answered that question for him, glaring at Shiera all the while he said. "She came two days ago, apparently Shiera was in the area, we thought you would die so we did not see why she should have the chance to say goodbye." He said no more, and he had no need to, Brynden looked at Shiera and grabbed her hand and held it tightly.

"What happened, did we win?" Brynden managed to ask, his voice a whisper.

Maekar answered once more. "Yes we won. Once the rebels realised their precious Daemon was dead their ranks began to break. They lost many of their key generals, but Bittersteel and Redtusk managed to rally the remainder of their men and led a fierce charge. Redtusk is dead, killed by Ser Roland, but Bittersteel managed to get away once he was done taking your eye out." Maekar paused then, and only then did Brynden think to check and see if what he said was true, and it was there was a gaping hole where his eye had once been, and he remembered the dagger being plunged into his eye, he shuddered involuntarily and Shiera tightened her grip on his hand. Maekar went on. "Bittersteel managed to flee south with some of the Blackfyre's commanders such as Ser Eustace Osgrey and Ser Gormon Peake. Our scouts report that they fled south to their base in the Reach and are even as we speak planning on escaping to Tyrosh. His Grace has ordered that we let them go for the time being."

Brynden did not know why Daeron would order such a thing, but one look from Maekar said that they would speak of it later.

Maekar cleared his throat then and said, "My Lords if you could give me and my uncle and my aunt some private time, there are some family issues we must discuss."

This was greeted by several "Yes Your Grace." As several men whom Brynden had not seen in the tent left it. Once they were all gone Maekar turned and faced Brynden once more, and this time Brynden could see the fear plainly written all over his nephew's face, it was a rare show of emotion for Maekar. "Father ordered that we let Bittersteel and the other Blackfyres flee back to Tyrosh because we have more pressing problems. Aemon Blackfyre managed to escape the battle with Addam Osgrey, Ser Lewyn Ambrose, Ser Alyn Ambrose and Ser Jon Costayne. They are heading north for Winterfell, or Harrenhal if our scouts report correctly, for that is where Daeron Stark is. Stark also holds Baelor prisoner. It looks like this war is far from over."

* * *

**Cregan Stark**

Winter Is Coming, those were the words of their house, and it had come for the south with a vengeance. All the insults done to their family and to the whole of the north by House Targaryen over the years had been paid back, the south had bled. The banners had been called and when the bannermen of Winterfell had arrived at Winterfell, there had been a deep sense of anger and readiness bubbling beneath the surface of all the lords present. Harmond Umber spoke of getting revenge back for "Good Old Lord Willam", Lord Brandon Karstark spoke of teaching the Targaryens a lesson. And throughout the whole time they were in Winterfell planning their battle plans Cregan watched as his elder brother Daeron sat and talked with each of the lords in turn and listened to their advice and their suggestions, and then provided his own suggestions, and Cregan could not help but feel proud of his big brother, the brother with whom he was closest. This war they were fighting was as much about getting justice for the north as it was about putting their brother Daemon on the Iron Throne.

Then had come the time for them to head south, and that was when there had been tearful farewells, their brother Theon only ten and five when they had marched south had been indignant that he was being left behind, had argued fiercely that he was old enough to fight in the war, but Daeron had quailed him with one look, one that reminded Cregan startlingly of their father, and Theon had shut up. Daeron had later confessed to Cregan as they had begun the march south that he had been considering bringing Theon south with them, but that doing so would likely have killed their mother. Cregan could not have agreed more, their mother was already a nervous wreck, what with Daemon already fighting in the south and Daeron and himself marching south also, taking Theon- her baby- with them would more than likely have made her panic beyond belief. All she had said to them both before they had left was that they should return in one piece. That was also what his lady wife Wylla had said to him, her belly heavy with child, their first child, and each time he got up in the morning he prayed to the old gods that he would live to see his child be born.

Before they had reached the Twins they had stopped at their Uncle Artos's home of Moat Cailin where he and his sons- Cregan and Daeron's cousins- Brandon and Benjen greeted them with some 1500 men. Whilst they stayed in Moat Cailin they discussed how to best take the Twins, some of the lords had been in favour of storming the castle and taking it by force, but uncle Artos had argued against that saying that it would be a wasteful tactic and that it would only do damage to their chances of success in the south.

Instead he argued that they should lay siege to the Twins but give terms to Lord Frey, either he surrendered and gave them his men or himself and his whole family would be put to the sword. That was something that Cregan agreed with as did Lord Horras Bolton- the mad lord of the Dreadfort who could have married Jeyne- Daeron after much consideration also agreed with their uncle's suggestions and so after their uncle Beron had joined them with some 1000 men from White Harbour they marched south, and their campaign in the south began.

Of course, Daeron could not let the campaign begin without some theatrics. Cregan's elder brother had put two banners on top of a hill in front of the Twins, one with the Targaryen red dragon on black, and one with the black dragon of Daemon's house on red and had ridden on his warhorse with a flaming torch and had set fire to the Targaryen banner. The message had been clear; the north was fighting to put Daemon on the Iron Throne, nothing more, nothing less. Their uncle Artos had been exasperated by Daeron's display, though as Daeron was acting as Lord of Winterfell when he had done the deed, he could not be openly chastised otherwise that would have undermined his authority in the eyes of his bannermen, however, in private uncle Artos had severely reprimanded Daeron and had said that because of his antics it would be that much harder to get the Twins to peacefully co-operate.

It seemed their uncle had judged correctly. Lord Frey had stubbornly refused to surrender even with the northern host knocking on his doors, he had refused to let them pass and had refused to name his terms. Daeron, growing increasingly frustrated began to plan the sacking of the Twins; Cregan had been preparing himself for his first taste of war, when Lord Frey had ridden out of the Twins with an escort of some 200 men to demand what Daeron intended to do. Daeron had looked ready to strike the man in the face, and Cregan had felt like doing the same, luckily for Lord Frey their uncle Artos had a cooler head on his shoulders and whispered to Daeron the original terms they had decided in Moat Cailin. When Daeron presented these terms to Lord Frey, a strange expression came upon the Lord of the Crossing's face.

To Cregan it looked as if he was trying to decide whether or not Daeron was being serious or not, for the man kept looking at Daeron (whose hand was on Ice for the whole time) and then to the army camped around them. He did this many times before he eventually acquiesced and allowed them to cross, but with one condition Daeron's son Aegor would have to marry one of his daughters when they came of age. In exchange for this, Lord Frey gave them an extra 2000 men and the campaign was off to a bloodless start.

The true fighting began in the land near and on Oldstones castle, the ruin of a old castle of the First Men, where the northern host was attacked by a Riverland army led by Lords Piper, Vance and Mallister. The battle raged long and hard, through the rain and sleet that came with summer, and the warmth of a southern summer startled Cregan and many of the other northmen who had never truly been south of the neck, not Daeron though, no Cregan saw his brother fight through the warmth with little concern cutting men down like he was some sort of vassal of the Old Gods, come to do their work. Daeron had always been an exceptional warrior, Cregan could remember growing up in Winterfell idolising him and their brother Daemon, it was often said that both men were of comparable talents with the sword. Cregan himself did not fare too badly during the battle, he held his own against men twice his age, fighting warriors more experienced than him.

He can still remember the first man he killed though. It was some Mallister boy, who came charging at him with a hammer held high above his head, shouting profanities, the boy had swung his hammer fast and hard, and Cregan had just about managed to bring his longsword up in time to block the hammer swing. They had fought a fierce duel, hammer and sword, until both were worn down from exhaustion and Cregan being the quick handed fighter that he was found an opening between the boy's right shoulder and neck and feinted to the left drawing the boy forward, before he lunged forward and struck true burying his sword deep into the boy's neck. It was not a clean kill, blood spurted from the wound that Cregan had made, and the boy took time dying, his eyes were as wide as saucers and he begged and screamed for relief. His cries still haunted Cregan sometimes at night.

The battle had ended in a northern victory though, with Daeron himself having killed Lord Mallister and his heir, as well as Lord Piper single handed, their uncle Artos killed Lord Vance, and their cousin Brandon killed Lord Vance's heir. The minor riverlords who had marched alongside Lords Piper, Vance and Mallister were either put to the sword or surrendered and became part of Daeron's army. Their next stop was Riverrun, where they had received reports that Baelor Breakspear and a royalist army under his command were camped.

The two forces met in a fierce battle at Whispering Wood. Baelor Breakspear and Lord Edwyn Tully and Lord Blackwood. There was much bloodshed that day and the days that followed Cregan remembered. He remembered that he kept swinging his sword and burying it in soldiers from the Riverlands and those from the Crownlands until well after the sun had set most days. He remembered the screams and the cries of the dying as the bled out in the woods far from their homes and their loved ones, and each time he heard another man die, it made something within him revolt at the idea of ever lifting a sword ever again. Yet each time he looked to Daeron, his brother was still swinging Ice like a man possessed, and Cregan thought to himself that if his brother could do it and not look scathed then so to could he.

It was only after the battle, when the dead had been counted for and their bodies had been buried or given to the flames that Cregan fully saw what this war was doing to his brother. Daeron who was normally so sure of himself in public and never seemed as if anything was fazing him looked shocked at what he had seen and what he had done. His hands shook and his eyes looked scared, as if he was scared of what he was capable of and what he had become. Cregan knew that he was scared of what he himself had become, and he was not the Lord of Winterfell and so could therefore not fully comprehend what this must be like for Daeron.

Though when they were informed that Baelor Breakspear had been captured, it seemed as if the fighting and the nightmares of the aftermath were all worth it. Baelor Breakspear was a great warrior and was one of the best commanders the royalist army had, with him out of the field that gave Daemon the opportunity he needed to take King's Landing once and for all. Cregan did admire Baelor Breakspear though, even when he was brought before Daeron in rags, beaten and bruised, he maintained his dignity and his honour. Even when he was told that he would be kept in a guarded cage he remained dignified, and once all the other bannermen were gone, and it was just Daeron, Cregan and their uncles and cousins, Daeron told Baelor that he did not wish for this, but it had to be done, for Daemon to be successful.

The next day they received word that the Lothstons had betrayed Daemon, and so the northern host had under Daeron's instruction marched east to Harrenhal, where they had put the whole of the Lothston family under arrest within their own homes, Baelor Breakspear was put into a cell, and Daeron began disrupting the supply lines going to the other royalist army commanded by Prince Maekar and Lords Hayford and Arryn. A week after they took Harrenhal they received word of the outcome of what the smallfolk were calling the Battle of Redgrass Field. Daemon- their brother- had been killed, slain by arrows to the back by Brynden Rivers, the man had also killed Aegon, Daemon's son. Aegor Bittersteel had fled with Daemon's remaining children except for Aemon to the east. Of Aemon, Bittersteel had written that he was riding for the north with great haste.

That was how they found themselves in this situation now, 12,000 angry northmen gathered on the Isle of Faces. Angry about the way in which their king had been killed, and angry that it had been a follower of the Old Gods who had done the deed. That was why when Harmond Umber stepped forward and drew his longsword and laid it Daeron's feet and said " The Black dragon is dead, our king is dead. His children no more than mere babes. Why not rule ourselves? What have the Targaryens ever done for us, except insult us? My lords there stands the only king I will ever bow to. The King of the North!"

Cregan too got down on bended knee and said "I am your brother, now and always. Through thick and thin, through ice and fire. You are my king brother, the king of the north!"

The other lords of the north got down on bended knee and proclaimed Daeron the King of the North, the dragons be damned. The North had awoken, and it would be free, for the North Remembers.


	8. The Grey and The Black

**Arianne Stark**

Winterfell was still in mourning. That much was abundantly clear. From the way the people within the castle and the way the smallfolk of the Winter Town carried themselves it was clear that Winterfell was in mourning over the death of one of their favourite sons. Daemon Blackfyre had been slain on a field far away from the north and from Winterfell, he had not set foot in Winterfell before his rebellion had begun, and yet the north still mourned his passing. From what her good sisters had told he, when Willam Stark had returned from the south all those years ago with a Targaryen princess for a bride, and had come with her bastard son, there had been those who had been sceptical of whether a dragon could adapt to the north and its ways. Her good mother had proved the sceptics wrong, and was seen with much respect and admiration. Daemon Blackfyre had spent the first twelve years of his life in Winterfell, growing up and learning the lessons needed to be a lord with Arianne's own husband Daeron. The two of them had been as thick as thieves; she had seen how close the two of them had been when they had all been in King's Landing. The people of Winterfell as well as her good sisters had spent the past year since her husband had been away at war recounting the tales of Daeron and Daemon as children, and the pranks they had played and each time they spoke of the two of them, it was with nothing but love and respect and pride that filled their voices.

Yes Winterfell was still in mourning, her good mother especially. Lady Daena Stark, was someone Arianne had grown up hearing tales about from her husband, Daeron idolised his mother and loved her deeply. Arianne had seen why when she had arrived at Winterfell, her good mother was so strong and so confident that it was no surprise to her that she had managed to survive all those years in the Maidenvault, and she knew then where Daeron had gotten his strength and confidence from. News of Daemon's death had shaken her good mother, Lady Daena was no longer as outgoing as she had been before the rebellion, in fact it seemed as if she had become more introverted and more of a husk of the woman she had been before her sons had marched for war. Arianne was worried about her good mother.

Her husband had returned two days after Winterfell had learnt of the death of one of their favourite sons. He comes home not as a lord of the north, but as its king, proclaimed on the Isle of Faces, the last place in the south with a weirwood tree, the place where the Children of the Forest once stood watch over their own children. He comes back home to her and their family a changed man. Yes he still smiles but his smiles are occasional now, his eyes are wearier than they were before the war, his actions and words are more guarded now than they were before. He is much more withdrawn than he was before. And it worries her that he may not be able to love in the same way as he was before the war.

It takes three weeks before she manages to pluck up the courage to ask her husband what happened to him during the war. She had meant to ask sooner and help him in any way she could, but with the lords of the north still in Winterfell, seemingly waiting for something, anything to happen, there had not been a moment where she had been free to express her heart to her husband, her king. But one day, once he is done with yet another round of meetings and discussions for the future of the north, he comes back to their shared rooms- they had always shared rooms before the war, with their son, their Aegor in a cot near the bed- he sits down and sighs heavily.

"I know I have not been the best husband or father as of late my love." She hears Daeron say, pain and exhaustion mingling together. She goes to say something reassuring and yet Daeron raises one finger and silences her, he turns to face her and in his violet eyes she sees pain and sorrow. "Mother made a startling revelation today. It turns out she gave father the old crown of the Kings of Winter before he left for King's Landing all those years ago. Mikken is making a crown for you as we speak; we are to be crowned tomorrow."

She does not know what to say to that, and so she lets silence settle between them before Daeron speaks again. "Horras Bolton will be planning a rebellion at some point, I know he will, I can feel it. The man was supposed to marry my aunt Jeyne before she married uncle Quellon, did you know that? The mad fool would have had a claim to Winterfell. He has been following my ideas and suggestions like a cat in water since the war ended. I can feel something is about to happen in the north I just don't know what."

"Have someone keep an eye on him Daeron. Could you not do that you are king now?" Arianne asks.

Daeron sighs again and runs a hand through his hair. "I wish I could, but if I do that I will make Lord Horras suspicious, and that would further ignite the flames for a rebellion. No I will bide my time, I'll have scouts ride around the lands surrounding the Dreadfort and feed reports back to me."

Arianne knows that cannot be all that is troubling her husband, but she has learnt since their time together in King's Landing that it is best to let Daeron speak first before asking anymore questions. And as such she is proved right. "Aemon Blackfyre, my nephew will be coming to Winterfell very soon. He managed to escape Bloodraven and Maekar, and fled the battle with Addam Osgrey and the Ambrose brothers as well as Ser Costayne. They are currently in Moat Cailin for the time being, but once we are crowned they shall be coming to stay with us at Winterfell. "He pauses for a moment, and Arianne can sense that the thing that has been bothering her husband since he came back from the south is about to be revealed she waits with baited breath. " War will come to Westeros once more, for as long as Bittersteel and Bloodraven and Aemon live, war will engulf Westeros, and I will have to give the north's support to each and every single Blackfyre rebellion, because I promised Daemon that I would."

Arianne feels her throat constrict and feels her chest tighten at her husband's words, but she remains silent.

Daeron goes on. "I should have marched straight to Redgrass, Harrenhal was a pointless endeavour. Lord Lothston is a coward and a turncloak; he was not worth spending time at Harrenhal. I should have marched from Riverrun straight to Daemon's forces. Then we would not have to worry about more war, and then Daemon would be sitting where he should be, on the Iron Throne and Daeron Targaryen and his line would be rotting in the ground. I should have listened to Cregan, not to uncle Artos."

The sadness and pain that Arianne heard in her husband's voice made her heart ache for him, and she leaned over in bed to grasp his hands which were shaking. She gave them a tight squeeze before saying. "It was not your fault that Daemon died my love, you could not have known that Bloodraven would resort to treacherous tactics to kill him, or that the men sworn to Daemon would break once he was dead. It is not your fault my love." She squeezes his hands once more and then pulls him down to sit next to her on their bed, she can feel his hands still shaking in hers, his head comes to rest on her shoulder, and she can feel the steady drops of tears falling onto her night shift.

She hears Daeron take a deep shuddering breath before he asks, "So why do I feel like I am responsible for the failure of my brother's dream. Why do I feel like I have failed all of you?" More tears begin to fall from her husband's eyes onto her night shift and Arianne takes one of her hands away from his to stroke his hair, and murmurs softly that he has not failed any of them, that he had done them all so proud. They fall asleep in each other's arms for the first time since Daeron came back from the south that night.

Morning dawned bright and early the next day, and soon husband and wife parted for their respective duties before the coronation began. Daeron left for more discussions with his lords bannermen about this and that, Arianne had to go and see that there was enough food left stocked in the kitchens and that there was enough supply to see them through the remaining months of summer, after all the words of House Stark were Winter is Coming, and she could have sworn there was a slight chill in the air today of all days.

Once she had made sure everything was in order, she returned to her chambers and got ready for the coronation. Deciding to wear a simple dress of grey and white, with the direwolf brooch of her husband's house keeping her scarf in place. A few moments after she had dismissed her handmaidens Daeron came and together they walked to the godswood where the coronation would be taking place. Strangely enough Arianne did not feel nervous, she knew that perhaps she should do, but all she felt was calm and collected, if this was what the gods wished for her and her family then this would be what would happen. She could feel Daeron's had shaking in hers, and so she squeezed it tightly to reassure him, and then when they reached the clearing in the godswood next to the heart tree, still holding hands they walked towards the thrones that had been put up for this special occasion, the northern lords were gathered around them.

Once she and Daeron were seated, she heard Artos Stark begin to speak in that deep iron voice of his. "Today we are gathered here, to fulfil an ancient promise made by the Starks of Winterfell. Since the Age of Heroes there has always been a Stark in Winterfell, whether as kings or as lords, the Starks have always ruled the north from Winterfell, and so they shall until time ends. Today we come to crown Daeron Stark and his wife Arianne, as the first king and queen of the North since Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Dragon. The dragons of the Targaryens are all dead now though, and the Targaryens on the throne do not have the rightful claim to the Iron Throne. And so the north will not stand by such injustice, we are a free and independent people as of this day. I take this crown of winter and do so declare Daeron Stark rightful King of the North, King of winter, and Lord Protector of the realm and Defender of the Old Gods. Do you accept?"

Daeron's hand still shook violently in hers but all he said was "Yes." And so Artos Stark, laid the crown of winter on her husband's head and then placed the newly forged crown on top of her head, and proclaimed her queen of winter. With that done the northern lords began to cheer and shout words as one in a thunderous voice, that made her shiver as if the old gods themselves were beginning to awaken from their slumber.

Much later, when Daeron held his first court meeting as King of the North, he asked for her to be present and so they sat side by side on thrones made of weirwood, Daeron on the ancient seat of the Starks, and Arianne on a newly made throne. Daeron's first announcement was to make his uncle Artos hand of the King as well as confirm his position as Lord of Moat Cailin and name him Defender of the Neck. Next he named Lord Harmond Umber Warden of the Northern Marches. Beron Stark of the Wolf's Den was named as Warden of the Narrow Sea and High Admiral of the recently completed northern fleet. Quellon Greyjoy who had come himself to Winterfell to witness his nephew's coronation, was formally accepted into the northern kingdom and was named Warden of the Sunset Sea. And Lord Sunderland the lord of the Three Sisters, seeking sanctuary from the wrath of the Targaryens, was accepted into the northern kingdom, and so Daeron became king of the north and the iron islands, with an increased naval presence, Arianne could almost hear the northern lords licking their teeth with anticipation at the thought.

The next move Daeron made was to announce the formation of a personal guard for the King and the royal family. Nine men based on the number of blades on the crown of winter, who would forswear all their inheritances when they join, they could not marry, and would hold no lands or titles. Their headquarters would be in the rebuilt first keep of Winterfell, and they would wear grey armour and have grey cloaks fixed to their armour. Daeron named his youngest brother Theon as the first lord commander of the Northern Kingsguard, whom he dubbed the Winter's Guard.

With that done, Daeron's next move as king was to order the changing of the royal family's sigil, for in his words though they were Direwolves, they were also dragons and needed to show the rest of Westeros as such. And so that was how on the day Aemon Blackfyre arrived in Winterfell with an escort of some twenty men, he came to find Winterfell showing not the traditional grey direwolf racing across a field of white, but of a grey dragon with its wings and teeth bared combatant with the grey direwolf on a field of ice white. The words of House Stark of Winterfell remained the same imposing words they had been for the past eight thousand years.

Two days after Aemon Blackfyre arrived; there came two letters from the south. One from Lord Frey at the Twins announcing regretfully that the betrothal between Daeron and her son Aegor and one of Frey's daughters would have to be broken, due to royal command. Though it was an insult to break the betrothal, none of Daeron or Artos or even Arianne truly minded much, for that would leave Aegor with the option of marrying whomever he wished. The next letter came from King's Landing, and it announced that Prince Maekar Targaryen and Lord Brynden Rivers would be coming north to Winterfell to discuss the ending of hostilities between Daeron the good and her Daeron, as well as discuss the release of Prince Baelor, who had been kept in a cell since Daeron had returned to Winterfell.

* * *

**Delena Blackfyre**

Her husband and her firstborn son were dead, slain by Brynden Rivers, Daeron the Good's master of whispers. She still had a hard time processing this information. From the reports they had received during the war, it had seemed almost inevitable that Daemon would win and would be sitting on the Iron Throne, but by some ill fortuned, by some sheer bad luck on her husband's part, he had been slain by his half brother and her Aegon had died with his father. The news had come on dark wings, writ in Aegor Rivers hand, the raven had torn her world upside down in a mere matter of hours she had gone from thinking that perhaps she might actually get to see her twins and her husband again, to worrying desperately about the fate of her second born son Aemon, and the fate of her remaining children.

Whilst she and Daemon had not exactly loved each other- there had been no possibility of that, what with his love for Daenaerys and her love for Mathis Tyrell- they had become fond of each other over the years, and so she did mourn his passing. She was more sad about the death of her first born, Aegon, he had been the jewel in her eyes and Daemon's, had Daemon been successful in his bid to take the Iron Throne, Aegon would have had the potential to be one of the best kings Westeros had ever seen, her boy was smart and caring, and liked learning and fighting. She supposed that was why Daemon had risen up in rebellion, after Aegor Rivers and Quentyn Ball had been whispering in his ear for so long, she did not know Baelor Breakspear all that well, but it seemed to her that perhaps Daemon was trying to get a better future for their children when he rebelled, and it seemed that the whisperings that his father had wanted him to be the king had if not gotten to him had converted him into trying to make his sons kings.

She knew that was why her father had risen in rebellion with Daemon. The chance that his grandson could be king was one that Lord Devan Strickland would not have passed up for the world. It would have given him unprecedented influence in Westeros let alone the Reach, and may have even presented the possibility of House Strickland being made Wardens of the South had Daemon been successful. But of course Daemon had not been successful, no her husband had been slain on Redgrass field, his life's blood adding to the tens of thousands of other men's blood that fed the hungry and parched fields where the two forces fought. And so her father had fled with his tail between his legs and had taken her and his remaining grandchildren across the narrow sea to Tyrosh where somehow Aegor had contacts.

Aegor had always been someone who had intimidated Delena, he was an angry and aggressive man, who it seemed only, took pleasure in two things, those being fighting and arguing. She remembered the countless arguments that Daemon and Aegor had had before the rebellion had begun, these arguments had usually centred around King Daeron II Targaryen, and whether or not he truly had the right claim to the throne, and that Daemon's father had actually named Daemon his true heir in his last will and testament. Such arguments often ended with Daemon saying that it was all well and good saying that his father had named him his true heir, but unless they actually had written proof with King Aegon IV's signature and seal on it, no one would ever believe them, and besides Daemon would argue, he did not want to be king.

Now, with Daemon and Aegon dead Aegor had gone into a tower of fury, he seemed to no longer live for the living and seemed determined to put Aemon on the throne by any means necessary. Such was his anger and fury that he had driven Delena- who was usually quite a peaceful and quiet person- to anger on numerous occasions, what with his constant talk of war and the Iron Throne. She had snapped at him that enough blood had been shed for that chair, and that she did not want her children dying and suffering for something that at the end of the day they may not even want. Aegor had given her such a cold look then, and in a tone filled with venom had said that she was lucky that she was Daemon's wife, otherwise he would have knocked her senseless for the words she had uttered. He had said, his voice rising in anger as he spoke, that so long as he still had breath in his body, he would try and try until he was successful to put one of Daemon's sons or grandsons on the Iron Throne, for it was theirs by right of blood, and that Daeron II Targaryen was nothing more than a bastard who had taken what was not his to take.

After that, she had done all she could to keep her children away from his corrosive influence. She was lucky in the sense that her Daemon favoured books more than swords, and that earnt him the scorn of Aegor, for the man had never had time for learned men or words, in fact Delena was quite surprised that he could even read, let alone write properly. With Aemon in Winterfell under his uncle Daeron Stark's protection, Delena had atleast some sort of hope that he would grow up to be a decent and honourable man, like his father and not his uncle Aegor. She did not however have as much luck with keeping Aegor's corrosive influence away from Haegon or Daeron. Bittersteel seemed to dote on them, even though Daemon had remarked multiple times how much Haegon reminded him of Prince Maekar as a child, Aegor seemed not to care and seemed to treat Haegon and Daeron as his own two sons rather than nephews, and as such they seemed to spared most of his anger, something that whilst in some small part she was grateful for, made Delena slightly angry.

She could tell Aegor was planning something, some great move to help Aemon gain the Iron Throne, but what it was she could not tell, all she could feel was that the cold winds were rising and that before there could be peace there would be more and more bloodshed, many more Redgrass fields would occur, and the realm would bleed, for the dance of dragons would go on and on till there was only one dragon left standing.


	9. A Treaty Of Dragons and Wolves Part 1

**Maekar**

Sometimes he still heard the cries of the wounded and the dying. Their screams echoed in the chamber of his mind, and caused him to wake up sweating and panting. War was not the glorious thing that the songs and stories made it out to be. No war was like a nightmare Maekar had been plagued by as a child, but a thousand times worse. He'd seen his friends and allies, people he had grown up with, cut down before his very eyes. He'd killed men he had once considered friends and comrades in arms, simply because Daemon Blackfyre had been manipulated into trying to claim the throne that was not his to claim. Westeros had bled because of Bittersteel and Fireball and the anger they felt towards Maekar's father King Daeron the Good, and the supposed insults that he had done to them. Daemon would not have raised himself in rebellion had it not been for those two constantly whispering in his ear, Maekar knew that. Maekar also knew that what Bloodraven had done to end the battle of Redgrass field whilst necessary, had been completely cowardly and without honour. And if there was something that Maekar could not stand it was a man who fought without honour, and his uncle had done just that.

After Redgrass, there had been much to do. There had been wounded to tend to, there had been dead to bury or burn, and then of course Maekar had had to chase those rebels that were trying to flee across the narrow sea but had not left with Bittersteel. That had led to several minor skirmishes within the Riverlands and even in the Stormlands, but they had all been quite bloody. Lord Lonmouth had led the Blackfyre troops in the Stormlands and had taken Lord Devan Strickland's place in laying siege to Storm's End when Daemon's good father had marched north to join his good son at Redgrass. Strickland had fled with Bittersteel but Lonmouth kept fighting, it had taken Maekar three days and many minor fights before Lonmouth had been slain and his son had surrendered and the siege had been lifted. It still grated on him though that Bittersteel had managed to escape him. The man was responsible for bringing war and death to Westeros and as such needed to be brought to justice. Yet Maekar's father had ordered him not to pursue Bittersteel, because the man was not the key threat to House Targaryen, Aemon Blackfyre- Daemon's twelve year old son and heir- was, the boy had been Daemon's squire and had fled north with an escort likely to go to his uncle Daeron Stark's army. Maekar's father had written quite clearly that Aemon Blackfyre was the main threat to stability in Westeros not Bittersteel, and so Bittersteel had been allowed to flee across the narrow sea to Tyrosh with Daemon's wife and his remaining children.

Their spies in the north had reported that Aemon Blackfyre had arrived at Winterfell some days ago and was now learning the arts of being king under his uncle King Daeron Stark, King of the North and the Iron Islands. The very title made Maekar grind his teeth in anger. His oldest friend Daeron had crowned himself and was harbouring the threat to Maekar's family, and would more than likely start yet more wars to see the boy put on the Iron Throne before he died. Maekar could understand the hurt and anger that his friend must be feeling, he knew the feeling well, but why would he allow himself to be crowned, Maekar could not understand. As far as he could remember Daeron had never hungered for crowns despite the insults that Maekar knew his mother had heaped on Daeron and the north. Of course his friend had been hungry for glory, what young boy wasn't? But he had never shown any ambitions to be more than Lord of Winterfell, nothing more. He supposed war did things to people, changed them in subtle ways. He knew he had changed in some ways, some of them good, some of them bad. Any man who said that he was unaffected by war was a liar, or a coward, afraid to face the realities of what they had seen, what they had done. He wondered what sort of man his friend had become.

More memories came back to Prince Maekar as they continued their journey northwards. His father had been hard but fair with those rebels they had captured after Redgrass. Some of them such as Lord Yronwood were pardoned but had some of their lands taken off of them and others such as Lord Shawney were executed for treason and crimes against the crown, and their eldest sons were taken as hostages in King's Landing to ensure that the rest of the house remained loyal to the Iron Throne. Lord Devan Strickland who had fled across the narrow sea with Bittersteel and others like him who had fled with Bittersteel saw their lands confiscated by the crown and given to houses that had remained loyal to the crown during the rebellion. There were problems though with this. Other houses such as House Reyne, House Osgrey, House Sunderland, House Costayne, House Ambrose and House Peake all had members that were either in the north with Daeron Stark, or had members who were married into northern houses. And as the north had declared itself independent- something Maekar hoped to change- there was very little that Maekar's father could actually do to bring those houses to justice.

Furthermore with Baelor a prisoner in Winterfell, there was a need for careful political manoeuvring to ensure his safe release and a settlement that would look favourably for both sides. That was why Maekar was riding north with Bloodraven, even though he did not personally like the man, he could appreciate the fact that his uncle was good at playing the game of politics and manoeuvring, the only thing was that Daeron Stark's uncle was just as good, if not better at playing politics as Bloodraven was, which could make for an interesting meeting. Maekar silently said a prayer to the seven as Moat Cailin came into view that their journey north to Winterfell would be successful and that a peace- no matter how tenuous could be found-. They were greeted at the gates of Moat Cailin- the imposing northern fortress that signalled the entrance to the north- by Artos Stark's son Brandon Stark. Stark was a tall and thickly built man, with broad shoulders and a mop of dark brown hair and piercing grey eyes.

"Welcome Prince Maekar, Lord Brynden. I hope your ride north was comfortable as it could be." Stark said in a voice of iron.

"Thank you, and yes it was fairly pleasant." Bloodraven replied.

"Well then, let us not tarry. I know you must have ridden for a long time. Rest a while here, before venturing north to Winterfell." Stark said, before turning his horse around and trotting back into the keep.

Before the rode in after Stark, Bloodraven rode up next to him and leaned over and whispered in his ear. "Let me do the talking when we reach Winterfell Maekar."

Maekar merely grunted in response and then spurred his horse onward to Moat Cailin. They spent the night at Moat Cailin, refreshing them after a tiring ride north. Brandon Stark was a good host, he was fun and jovial, and had an ease with people that made Maekar slightly jealous, though he tried hard to shake the jealousy off. He spent that night during the feast looking around the hall, and he saw all the faces in the hall regarding himself and Bloodraven with a particular weariness, no they looked at him with a certain weariness, Bloodraven they looked at with thinly disguised hatred and loathing. It made sense Maekar thought, Daemon had been raised in Winterfell before he had come to King's Landing and had won the hearts of the north, and that Bloodraven was his brother and had killed him as well as being a follower of the Old Gods would have seriously angered many in the north. Brandon Stark's father was not at Moat Cailin, though Maekar had expected something of the sort, given that their spies had reported that Daeron had named him High Steward of the North, essentially naming him Hand of the King and making him the second most powerful man in the whole of the north. From the stories that Maekar had heard from his father and great uncle and grandfather of Lord Artos Stark, the man was a fierce warrior and man, with a quick temper and an even quicker wit. A formidable foe and certainly one who could challenge Bloodraven if it came down to it.

The next day, Maekar and Bloodraven rode for Winterfell, accompanied by Brandon Stark and Lord Bowen Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch. They rode in silence for most of the journey, though occasionally Maekar could here Lord Reed talking in hushed tones with Bloodraven, and occasionally speaking with Brandon Stark. They stopped off at various inns along the way to Winterfell, and at each inn Maekar noticed that their party- mainly Bloodraven- drew sideways looks from the locals sitting and drinking, and often the conversations raging on in the inns would stop when either himself or Bloodraven entered the inn, but would resume when Brandon Stark walked in.

A week after leaving Moat Cailin they arrived at Winterfell, the castle was just as imposing as Maekar had heard it to be, the new sigil that Daeron Stark had had created- a grey dragon with its wings and teeth bared combatant with a grey direwolf on a field of ice white- flapping high on the ramparts. Waiting for them in the courtyard was the whole of Winterfell it seemed, Daeron Stark stood tall and proud the ancient crown of winter atop his head, his wife and their son, a thick and burly man with a mop of greying brown hair and thick broad shoulders stood next to Daeron's wife, the man Maekar took to be Artos Stark and his sisters stood next to him. Standing to Daeron's left was a man wearing a grey wolf's helm, grey armour and a grey cloak. So this was Theon Stark, the Lord Commander of Daeron's Winter's Guard. Maekar rode into the courtyard and waited for Bloodraven and Brandon Stark and Lord Reed to arrive before dismounting.

Maekar could feel the tension in the air as he walked towards his old friend, he saw out of the corner of his eye that Theon Stark had his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to draw it should anything go awry. Maekar stopped in front of his friend, and gave him a long and appraising look, noting the lines on his friend's face and then he broke out into a tired smile and clasped his friend by the hand and shook it firmly. "Daeron it has been too long."

He heard his friend give a wry laugh and heard his reply. "Aye it has Maekar, it has. Come let me introduce you to my family." And he walked down the line and introduced Maekar to his wife Arianne, the babe she held in her arms who had her thick black hair but his friend's deep violet eyes, his uncle Artos, his sisters Barbery who looked so like Maekar's sister Aelinor it took his breath away, and his sister Bethany.

There was only one person missing from the people Maekar had just been introduced to, "Where is the Lady Daena Daeron?"

Maekar regretted asking that question the moment it left his mouth, and yet he could not recall the words and it pained him to see the deep sorrow that appeared on his friend's face as he spoke. "My mother has not been well as of late. She was too ill to attend today; I hope that does not offend?"

Maekar shook his head, no it did not. At a nod from Daeron the rest of the castle dispersed and went back to doing their normal duties, Daeron asked for Maekar and Bloodraven to follow him into the castle. They walked in silence for a long time before they came to a stop in front of two doors, both of which were closed. Daeron turned round and looked at them both, his eyes glinting something fierce when he looked at Bloodraven, but his voice was even and measured when he spoke. "I believe you will be quite tired after your journey here. These two rooms are the rooms where you shall be staying for the duration of your stay. Rest now, tonight there will be a feast, and then tomorrow we shall discuss why you are here." With that Maekar watched his friend walk away from them, his brother a silent shadow behind him.

The afternoon and the evening passed by in a blur. The afternoon was taken up by Maekar and Bloodraven discussing what the best way would be to approach dealing with Daeron, for his friend had seemed so tired and worn down, that perhaps he would be more willing to accept being subject to rule of the Iron Throne if offered the right terms. They also talked about how they had not seen Aemon Blackfyre out in the courtyard, and debated where he could possibly be. The evening was taken up by the feast, Maekar had never truly enjoyed feasts, considering them frivolous and unnecessary, but it seemed that the northerners were up to prove a point by holding the feast. Daeron seemed preoccupied during the feast, seemingly deep in thought, though Maekar could hazard a guess at what he was thinking.

The next day came the day Maekar had been dreading ever since Daemon had fallen at Redgrass. The day in which they would have to try with all their might to get Daeron Stark to accept being subjected back to rule of the Iron Throne. They met in the great hall, with what seemed the whole of the northern court in attendance. Daeron sat on the ancient weirwood throne of the Starks, his wife sat next to him on a similar throne. Guarding the foot of the steps were the men and woman of the Winter's Guard : Lord Commander Theon Stark, Rickard Karstark (Lord Artos's nephew), Willam Stark (Lord Beron Stark's youngest son), Dorren Umber, Beric Dustin, Jeyne Mormont, Derrick Flint, Edrick Strongaxe (a wildling who had grown up in Winterfell) and Devon Marriagestone (a man from the Crofter's village who had fought during the Blackfyre Rebellion who had managed to kill Ser Willem Wylde during the battle of the Whispering Wood). All nine of the Winter's Guard looked imposing and fierce, battle hardened warriors all of them except for the Lord Commander, though if their spies were to believed, many in the north considered Theon Stark to be as good a swordsman as his brother and king.

Artos Stark spoke first. "You have come with terms have you not Prince Maekar, Lord Brynden? We would hear them."

Bloodraven stepped forward and spoke in a clear voice. "We have come here under the instruction of King Daeron Targaryen, second of his name. True king of Westeros and the Seven Kingdoms. We have come to broker a peace with the north, and have the release of His Grace Prince Baelor Targaryen."

There was much muttering amongst the court once Bloodraven had finished speaking, though Daeron did not speak for the longest time. He eventually raised his hand and the chatter immediately stopped. The silence in the room was more deafening then the chatter had been, all were waiting for Daeron to say something. They waited and waited, then just as everyone was thinking that Daeron would not actually say anything he spoke in soft voice, so that they all had to strain to hear what he was saying. "You have come to broker peace have you Lord Brynden? You come to the north, to my home, and say as easy as you like that you wish to broker a peace. What is in this peace for my family, for my people?"

Maekar could feel something inside him beginning to tense; this was not going as expected. But Bloodraven seemed unperturbed by it and spoke confidently. "Why peace Lord Stark. Surely you do not wish to continue waging war and making Westeros bleed, for a line of pretenders and upstarts?"

Maekar nearly cringed internally at the way Bloodraven had spoken, when he looked up at the seat where Daeron sat, his friend gave no outward indication that he was angered by Bloodraven's callous words, but when he spoke, there was a hint of laughter in his voice "Peace? Oh come now Lord Brynden surely you can do better than that? I know you have not come here to talk peace with me. No, Daeron the Good is not one to send two emissaries all the way to the frozen, savage north simply to talk peace. No you want concessions, speak them now or be gone."

There was silence for a moment, then Bloodraven spoke again, a smile on his lips like this was some sort of game. "Very well. You wish to hear the terms, and then you shall. In exchange for peace, his Grace Daeron the Good requires that you come to King's Landing to swear fealty to him, and promise to not raise arms against the Iron Throne ever again. Furthermore, his grace, also wishes for you to hand over the pretender Aemon Blackfyre to be tried by the King's Justice. If you do this then the north shall be pardoned, and Westeros can rebuild and move on."

Daeron was silent once more; though the chatter picked up in the court once again, out the corner of his eye Maekar saw a man with a flayed man on his surcoat begin to move on his feet. He turned his attention back to the throne where his friend sat. Daeron's face looked like it had been carved from stone, his voice sounded like raging thunder when he spoke. "Those are the terms my cousin has sent you here to get me to submit to? Ha, Daeron the Good truly has lost his marbles if he thinks I will submit to that. No, these are the terms: The North and the Iron Islands is one free and independent kingdom, we shall no longer be ruled from King's Landing. Furthermore if my cousin wishes for peace, he will have to promise to pardon Houses Reyne, Costayne, Ambrose, Peake and Osgrey and allow those members of the houses that came with my nephew Aemon back to their homes, and ensure that their houses do not face repercussions for fighting for my brother his grace King Daemon. If Daeron the Good is willing to accept these terms then, he can have his peace and his son back."

Before Bloodraven could say something that worsen their situation, Maekar stepped forward and spoke. "If Your Grace would be so kind as to give us the chance to discuss these terms and speak with you once we have decided what to do we would be most grateful."

Maekar was relieved to see Daeron's eyes soften a little as he granted Maekar's request, and called an end to the council session. Once they were back in the safety of their rooms Maekar and Bloodraven argued deep into the night about what to do. Eventually they reached a decision and the next day asked for a chance to speak with Baelor, which Daeron agreed to. And so it was that Maekar and Bloodraven found them standing in front of Baelor's cell one night talking with the crown prince and heir to Westeros.

"So what terms did Daeron offer you for peace then?" Baelor asked his voice sounding hoarse.

"Recognition of the independence of the kingdom of the North and Iron Islands, and the pardoning of Houses Reyne, Ambrose, Costayne, Peake and Osgrey." Maekar said.

Baelor laughed. "That stinks of Artos Stark, that man is too clever by half. No we cannot accept those terms, it would lead to much rebellion within the rest of the kingdoms, Damon Lannister is already angry with father over the fact that he kept his sons hostage during the rebellion. No Daeron is more reasonable; tell him we shall accept the pardons of the houses he mentioned, nothing more, nothing less. Let him make of that what he will."

"Are you sure that is a wise idea brother, Daeron seemed quite set on getting us to formerly recognise northern independence." Maekar asked.

"Yes, but he has to seem sure otherwise his bannermen will desert him. No get those terms to him on his own and we will have peace." Baelor replied.

The next day Maekar met with Daeron alone in his solar, with only Theon Stark and Jeyne Mormont of the Winter's Guard present in the room. Daeron sounded tired when he spoke. "So you have decided then have you Maekar?"

Maekar hesitated and then went on. "Yes Daeron we have. We will accept the pardoning of House Reyne, House Ambrose, House Costayne, House Peake and House Osgrey in return for peace." He did not mention Aemon Blackfyre, nor did he mention Northern independence and neither did Daeron.

"Very well then. That is that then." Daeron said. "Now let us catch up Maekar, it has been too long old friend."

And so Maekar and Daeron Stark spoke for some time about the past, reminiscing about times spent in King's Landing, and they spoke of Maekar's children and their hopes and worries, and for a moment it felt like the war had never happened, like there was no further possibility of war occurring ever again.

Once they were done talking Maekar left his friend to his thoughts and walked back to his room, as he neared his room though he found Bloodraven speaking to the man he had seen in court a few days ago with the flayed man on his surcoat. The man had pale grey eyes and a pale face, with a whisp of black hair on his head. Bloodraven introduced the man as Lord Horras Bolton.

The man spoke softly though his meaning was clear. "Your Grace, my lord," Horras Bolton said. "Should there ever come a time when House Targaryen becomes fed up with the Starks, know that House Bolton will always be loyal to you and will stand by you no matter what you do." With that he walked away, leaving Maekar with a strange feeling in his gut.

Three days later Maekar, Bloodraven and Baelor set out for King's Landing riding not with their full mission accomplished but with something at least done and some sort of peace achieved. Though the words Horras Bolton had uttered to him and Bloodraven kept echoing in his head, and he had a strange feeling that trouble would come to the north very soon.

* * *

**Aemon Blackfyre**

The north was much different to the south that much Aemon Blackfyre knew. The weather was colder, the people harder and much tougher. That was not to say that the people were not kind, oh no, they were extremely kind towards him. There was always someone on hand to help him with his work, or to point him in the right direction when he was lost or needed to get something. Whether that was because the people of the north were generally being kind toward him, or if it was because he was Daemon Blackfyre's son, or because he was Daeron Stark's nephew he did not know, nor did he truly care. With his mother and other siblings away across the narrow sea in Tyrosh, so long as he knew there were people there to look out for him he was happy.

He still had difficulty truly believing that his father and his brother- his twin- were dead. There were still times at night where he woke up sweating and panting because he had had a nightmare where he had relived seeing his brother being killed by an arrow through the throat, and then he remembered seeing his father being struck by the arrows that would eventually bring him down to death's cold embrace. When he had been told that Maekar Targaryen and Brynden Rivers were coming to Winterfell to discuss peace terms with his uncle Daeron, he had been furious. Why should those two men who had been responsible for his father's death, for his family fleeing into exile come to the north and come and demand that his uncle submit himself and his family to the rule of the mad man on the throne. The man who had let the Dornish snakes corrupt his court.

He had voiced these thoughts once at a meal before the Targaryen envoys had come to Winterfell, and after an awkward silence his uncle had simply told him that he would not be allowed to be in Winterfell whilst they were here. Instead he would be staying with his other uncle Cregan Stark, at his uncle's holdfast a day's ride away from Winterfell. And so he rode there and stayed and brooded and thought about ways in which he could avenge his father and his brother, and make it so that his family could come back to Westeros and live in King's Landing the city that was rightfully theirs, in fact the whole continent was rightfully theirs, from the Wall down to Dorne. It was whilst he was in his uncle Cregan's holdfast waiting for the Targaryen envoys to go that he swore a vow in front of the godswood on his father and brother's memory that he would avenge them and ensure that House Blackfyre won the Iron Throne, even if he died in the effort. He swore that he would avenge them and get justice for them.

Also whilst he waited for the Targaryens to go back south, Aemon spent sometime with his grandmother, Daena Targaryen had been a source of legend when Aemon had been growing up with his brothers and sisters in the south. It was clear that from the stories that his father told, that Daena Targaryen- now Stark- was someone that Aemon's father Daemon truly loved and deeply respected, another such person was Willam Stark. Aemon's father had told his children countless stories of their grandmother's bravery and courage and strength, and how she had fought to get what she wanted, and had married the man she had loved. The Daena Stark that Aemon met after the rebellion had been crushed was not the same woman that Aemon had grown up hearing about in the stories his father had told him. She seemed to be a pale husk of the woman she had been, the fire seemed to have gone out of her eyes and she seemed to be wandering around like a ghost in human form. Aemon had mentioned this to his uncle Cregan, and his uncle had merely said that Aemon's grandmother had experienced a great deal of pain and loss in the last few years and that it was time for her to rest. Aemon had not truly understood what his uncle had meant by that, though he had thought it had made sense.

Once the Targaryen envoys had gone back south, Aemon had been allowed to return to Winterfell. His training under his uncle Daeron on how to be a fair and just king, his lessons with Maester Reyne and his sword practice with master of arms Steffon Cassel resumed, but with a much more frenetic and specific pace. It was almost as if his uncle Daeron was preparing him for an upcoming battle or war. Though Aemon was not sure when or where this war would be, but he promised himself that for his father, for his brother, for his uncle and for his family he would be ready for it when it came.

Furthermore, as he grew older and wiser, Aemon found he was growing fonder of his uncle Daeron's younger sister Barbery. Barbery had her mother's Targaryen features, and was exceptionally beautiful. Aemon found himself enamoured with her, and did all he could to try and impress her and be the best man he could for her. He knew that she had been born roughly round the same time as himself and Aegon, and that his uncle Daeron would likely start looking for some lord or some lord's son for his sister to wed, and Aemon was determined to prove himself worthy of her hand. And so he spent days and weeks courting her, listening to her talk about what she wished for herself in life, and what she liked to do and what she didn't like to do. He told her a little about what he himself wished to do, though he kept the more intimate details of his dreams to herself- girls did not like talk of war or conquest- and slowly but surely he began to think that she liked him almost as much as he liked her. And so when he asked her for her hand and she accepted he was over the moon, and then when he asked his uncle for permission to marry Barbery and King Daeron accepted, Aemon was the happiest he had been for a long time.

They were wed in the godswood in Winterfell in front of the Heart Tree with the whole of the north in attendance; anyone of importance was present at their wedding. And Aemon thought that he had never seen his grandmother look happier during his time at Winterfell then she had during that day. Though there seemed to be something that was bothering his uncle Daeron, for his uncle seemed preoccupied and Aemon saw him constantly talking to Lord Artos Stark and Lord Beron Stark as well as Aemon's other Uncle Cregan Stark. All three men had similarly grim and concerned looks on their faces, which Aemon knew could not be to do with the wedding, but as it was his wedding he did not bother himself with it overtly much and spent the rest of the night and most of the next morning fully enjoying the company of his wife.

A year later, Aemon's grandmother Lady Daena Stark- she who was known as Daena the Defiant- died in her sleep, and was cremated as per the Targaryen tradition, and her ashes were laid to rest in a crypt that King Daeron Stark had had made built for his mother, next to his father lord Willam Stark.

A somber atmosphere engulfed Winterfell for much of the next month after Aemon's grandmother was cremated, only to be broken when Barbery told him one fine summer's day that she was with child. There was a celebration feast held and Aemon and Barbery were the focus of the feast, and even Aemon's uncle who had seemed distant and preoccupied since the death of his mother seemed to be happy with the news, and seemed much more engaged with events then he had been at Aemon's wedding. Things between King Daeron and his wife Arianne seemed much improved as well, they were talking and holding hands and doing all the things that Aemon had not seen them do since his wedding.

The joyous atmosphere in Winterfell lasted for a week before Aemon was summoned to his uncle's solar one cloudy day, and found himself in a room with his uncle Daeron, his uncle Cregan, his uncle Lord Commander Theon Stark and Lords Artos and Beron Stark. The expression on his uncle Daeron's face was grim and resigned. "Lord Horras Bolton has called his banners and has declared rebellion in the north. Lord Gorne Magnar has also called for rebellion in Skagos." Aemon was shocked, though from the expression on his uncles' faces it seemed that they were not.

King Daeron Stark went on. "You shall be coming with myself and Theon when we march on the Dreadfort to deal with Lord Horras. Uncle Artos and Uncle Beron will take some of the northern army and sail for Skagos. We shall end these rebellions before they can begin."

Aemon briefly felt like the wind had been knocked out of him before he remembered something his younger brother Daemon had said long ago, before the rebellion. "_The Flayed man and the grey dragon shall war, and you shall be the one to end it."_

It was time to prove he was the king Westeros deserved.


	10. Desire In A Chalice's Cup

**Bloodraven**

Summer was slowly losing its battle with autumn. The days were getting shorter, the nights longer and colder, soon winter would be upon Westeros and whether or not they would be able to battle through it was something Brynden Rivers was not sure he truly wished to think about. There was much still to do in the capital, the Blackfyre Rebellion had placed a heavy strain on food supplies, the Reach was still recovering from the many fights and pillages that Daemon's men had done to its lands and crops. The Westerlands were also recovering, Damon Lannister was slowly coming out of his coma, and was slowly, very slowly trying to rebuild his land and reconnect with his sons. Sons whom had been kept in King's Landing to ensure his loyalty during the rebellion. Harvests were being brought in ready for the oncoming autumn, but Brynden was not sure these harvests would produce enough food to feed the growing population. Four years on from the failed Blackfyre rebellion and the lands still had not recovered, the once fertile Riverlands were now struggling to maintain their output of food and agriculture, and the whisperings of discontent were beginning to show.

The rebellion had brought up much inner turmoil and strife within Westeros, some of which had been buried from the time of the conquest; some from the Young Dragon's raiding of Dorne. Those nobles of the more martial variety who had sided with Daemon Blackfyre, had either been killed during the rebellion, or had fled across the narrow sea with Bittersteel to Tyrosh. Avoiding persecution, but leaving the seeds of their discontent and treachery in the arms of their families. These families had been pardoned by Brynden's brother Daeron, for that was how peace would be guaranteed with the north, at least for the time being. For so long as Daeron Stark sat on the throne of winter, there would be an uneasy peace in Westeros. Old hurts had been brought to the surface when Brynden and Maekar had gone north to Winterfell to make peace and bring the north back into the realm. Officially the north was still recognised by the small council as part of Westeros and the seven kingdoms, unofficially all knew that the north and the iron islands were one separate kingdom, and a permanent threat to peace and stability, unless something could be done to the Starks.

That was where Horras Bolton came in. Bolton had offered his services to the Targaryens to assist in any attempted removal of House Stark from power in the north. Brynden knew that House Bolton as well as being one of the Starks most powerful vassals, were also traditionally their most fiercest rivals, and so it was that Brynden had corresponded with Lord Horras for perhaps three moons after he had returned to King's Landing, ironing out the details of what would happen in the rebellion. Once it was decided that should the rebellion be successful, House Bolton would become Wardens of the North and one of Lord Bolton's sons would become Lord of Winterfell. At the same time there would also be a rebellion in Skagos, led by one Gorne Magnar, the head of the ruling house in Skagos, who would be given lands beyond the wall as part of his extended territory. Brynden had then tasked Lord Horras with the job of stirring up the minor house within the north, to get their leaders discontented with Daeron Stark and his kingship. Whilst this was being planned, Brynden brought the idea before the small council as well as his brother. Most of the small council members had been in favour of this idea, Baelor- who after Lord Hayford's death had been named Hand of the King- strictly opposed the idea, and argued that there were other ways in which they could get Daeron to see sense, but once again just as with the Blackfyre rebellion, Baelor was outvoted and shot down by his own father.

And so the plans were made, the next four years Brynden used his sources in the north as well as the promise of more gains for Lord Bolton, to spread discontent amongst the masterly houses of the north with their overlords and of course the Starks of Winterfell. In large parts his methods were successful, and when Lord Bolton wrote that Garen Tallhart, Devan Condon and Berrick Ryswell had all promised to support Lord Horras and bring with them their bannermen, the gears were set in motion for the rebellion to begin. The first sign that perhaps the rebellion would actually end well and give the Iron Throne its desired outcome, came on raven's wings, write in the slanting hand of Horras Bolton, describing the capturing of the port town Stony Shore, and the slaying of Derrick Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte in the battle that led to the fall of the Shore. With the Ironborn chasing a false lead about Qarth being ripe for the taking, that Brynden had had his men in Quellon Greyjoy's court plant in the old man's ears, there was no chance of the Ironborn coming to aid the Starks. All Brynden needed to was sit back and relax and watch the north eat itself from the inside out.

There was still pressing issues to deal with in the capital after all. The small council, united on what to do with Daeron Stark, was divided over what was to be done with those nobles who had sided with Daemon Blackfyre during the rebellion. Those such as Robb Reyne had been pardoned albeit reluctantly and allowed to keep their lands and holdings, others such Lord Manfred Lothston, had sided with Daemon Blackfyre at the outset of the rebellion, and yet on the eve of Redgrass had switched back to fighting for the Targaryens. Some of the small council such as the master of ships, Lord Velaryon urged for Lothston to be executed and his lands confiscated and given to a more loyal house, a position which Maekar had favoured loudly. Others such as the new master of coin, Ser Stafford Tyrell (the uncle of the young Lord Tyrell) argued that it would be better to give the Lothstons a full pardon and keep a close eye on them, rather than penalise them completely. Eventually after much debate and argument, Daeron decided that the Lothstons would be pardoned but some of their lands would be taken from them and given to the Blackwoods, who had fought loyally for the Iron Throne.

The Brackens were a harder house to decide what to do with. Given that his own mother had been a Blackwood, and that the mother of Bittersteel had been Bracken, many on the small council and indeed within court had been curious to see what sort of line he would push for. Lord Joffrey Bracken had been sent to Myr by Daemon to bring crossbowmen to Redgrass, but had been unable to deliver due to storms delaying his progress. His sons had fought for Daemon though, three of the four that he had with his wife, all three had been slain on Redgrass, and the fourth was no older than a babe. Baelor argued for Bracken to be pardoned but to have much of his lands taken off of him, leaving the house in a reduced state of power. And so it was that the land from Crossbow Ridge to Honeytree would be taken from them and given to House Blackwood.

With Bittersteel across the narrow sea in Tyrosh with Daemon's other children, Brynden spent most of his time and effort focussed on what Aemon Blackfyre was doing in the north. According to his spies, the boy had become quite the warrior, good with all weapons just like his father and his uncle. Furthermore he did not seem to have inherited any of the madness that sometimes plagued the Targaryen family. When news had reached the court of Blackfyre's marriage to Daeron Stark's sister Barbery and that the girl was with child, there had been an audible sense of tension and worry within King's Landing. War would come to Westeros once more, especially now that the Stark girl was with child. Daeron would want his nephew to become king to increase Stark influence and power in the south as well as to get revenge for all the insults done to his family over the years. Bittersteel would more than likely have heard about the pregnancy by now as well and would more than likely be preparing for an invasion, sometime soon. That was why Brynden had written to Lord Bolton the day he had received word of the pregnancy, ordering the man to call his banners and begin the rebellion, and to send someone to deal with Barbery Stark, and Aemon Blackfyre if possible.

Daeron Stark though continued to be a point of contention within the royal family itself. Stark had spent a good bit of time in King's Landing, growing up with Brynden, Bittersteel, Shiera, and Daenaerys as well as Daeron's children, and as such had developed relationships with some of them. Brynden knew that Maekar was especially conflicted about the ongoing tensions with Stark; he knew that Maekar deeply respected and admired Stark, and that the two of them had been close when Stark had been in King's Landing and had kept in contact after he had left. He knew that Aelinor also felt some form of remorse for Daemon's death and the ongoing conflict with Stark, he knew that Aelinor had been close with Stark, the two of them had become like brother and sister in the time Stark had been in the capital, and Aelinor had attended along with Maekar, Stark's wedding to Arianne Yronwood. Aerys as such had no real remorse or feelings about the conflict with Stark, though he had said that Stark and his line would be important in the years to come, though what he meant by that Brynden knew not.

There were also other matters other than the northern headache that Brynden had to focus on. His spies within the city and in other places in Westeros had reported to him that the smallfolk seemed to have a very different interpretation of the Blackfyres and Starks then most of the southern nobility did. His spies reported that the smallfolk were viewing Daemon Blackfyre as some sort of martyr, a man who had died fighting for what was his and what was right, a man who had fought a war for the woman he loved and to right the wrongs that Daeron had done by allowing the Dornish 'snakes' so much influence. His spies told him of how in the potshops of the capital and elsewhere in the kingdom, singers sang songs of how Daeron Stark was the king of winter, a vassal of the old gods come down to bring justice to the Targaryens who had scorned his family and his home, who had betrayed the gods, old and new, and that he would not rest until his nephew Aemon Blackfyre sat on the Iron Throne and order was restored to the world. His spies also spoke to him in hushed tones, of the rumours that started the rebellion, of how King Daeron and his line were all usurpers, that Aemon Blackfyre was the rightful king, born of the warrior and the maiden, sent to rid the world of abominations and sin. These rumours and songs did not leave the potshops where they were spoke and sung, Brynden made sure of that, the singers were sent to the deepest pits of hell, the rumour mongerers had their tongues, their eyes cut off. The Targaryen dynasty would be secure; Brynden would make sure of it. He would not allow some rumour to destroy all that he had worked for.

As he finished his cup of wine Brynden Rivers looked at the un-open letter that he had placed on his table sometime ago. The fire was dying out in the hearth as he put his cup down and moved to open the letter, which bore the flayed man seal of House Bolton. He quickly glanced through the letter and then smiled – a rare thing these days- he had some good news to share with Daeron and the small council. The Starks were about to face their toughest challenge yet.

* * *

**The Mad Bolton**

The banners were gathered, the armies had been assembled and war had been declared in the north. Lord Horras Bolton, the Lord of the Dreadfort was the man leading the charge. He sensed an opportunity for further honours for his family, with the Targaryens and the Starks at odds over the Blackfyre issue, Bolton had offered his services to King Daeron II Targaryen, and had begun planning and plotting with permission from the King of course, to undermine and eventually end Daeron Stark, and the Starks in general, and their hold of the north. He was determined to right the wrongs that his family had suffered; he was determined to do what none of his ancestors had been able to do. He would make House Stark die out, and he would take Winterfell and the north. But he would not submit to Targaryen or southern control, oh no, the north was tasting freedom and would not submit as easily to a Lord who wished to bend the knee to the Iron Throne, especially when the Iron Throne did not have dragons to guard it. No he would crown himself King of Winter, taking House Bolton's rightful place as kings of the north, once the Targaryens were occupied with another Black Dragon.

Much planning had done into the rebellion, much co-ordination with Bloodraven and Lord Gorne Magnar had happened. Their rebellions had been planned to occur at the same time to divide the Stark forces, and the trap had worked perfectly. Artos and Beron Stark were sailing for Skagos now, but would more than likely be delayed due to the sellsails that Bloodraven had hired from Bravos to keep the Stark army under Artos Stark busy. Reports from that side, painted a rather favourable picture. Stark he had marched from Winterfell with some 10,000 men to fight Horras himself, though with the summer days dying and autumn and its rains becoming more and more frequent, Stark's army had not yet reached the Shepshead Hill. Horras knew that Stark was an impatient man at times, and when it came to fighting he would be itching to get into the thick of the action. During the Blackfyre rebellion it had usually fallen to Stark's uncles Artos or Beron to keep him in check. But they were both gone, and whether or not the man's brothers Cregan and Theon would be able to do the same job, was still to be seen.

For four years Horras had planned and plotted the rebellion. He knew that none of the great houses of the north would rebel alongside him, they were too fiercely loyal to the Starks, but the masterly and secondary bannermen to these great houses were often very, very ambitious, and were often likely to take up any chance at furthering their own gains. He also knew that many of the secondary houses were nervous or upset by Daeron Stark's decision to support the Blackfyres during the rebellion, there were those who thought it odd that the oh so honourable Starks would wage war to put a bastard on the throne, who would risk the safety of the north and its people for a man who looked nothing like the north, but was the product of those who had subdued and insulted the north throughout their time as rulers of Westeros. It had not taken too much persuading to get the northern masterly houses to call their men to arms. House Forrester, House Condon, House Tallhart, House Slate, House Stout, House Long, House Lake, House Flint of Flint's Finger and House Ryswell had all sworn themselves to him and his cause, and their plans had been drawn.

House Forrester, House Slate and House Long had all called their banners and had fought a battle at the Stony Shore with the forces of House Glover and their supporters. A fierce battle had ensued with Matthew Forrester- a fierce warrior who had fought alongside Willam Stark in Dorne and against Raymun Redbeard- leading the rebel forces. Forrester had been the one to slay Lord Glover; his head was sent back to his widow and his brother with a clear message, surrender or suffer the same fate. Ethan Glover, Derrick's brother had refused to surrender and so Deepwood Motte was under siege. Many small skirmishes had occurred since that battle at Stony Shore between the Forrester forces and the other Glover forces, many had died, and yet Ethan Glover held out. For how long though, Horras did not know, from what Matthew Forrester wrote, Glover's food supplies were running low, their hopes of getting food cut off, what with the Mormonts unable to send aid, and the Ironborn away in Qarth raiding due to false reports sent by Bloodraven and his spies.

Devan Condon and Garen Tallhart had led their men north and east to Castle Cerwyn- half a day's ride from Winterfell- and had fought a battle within the sight of the castle with Donnel Cerwyn's forces, easily defeating them and killing Donnel Cerwyn, his son and his brother. Cerwyn Castle was now under their control, but there was one small problem, Donnel Cerwyn's wife and young daughter had managed to flee north to Winterfell due to help from one of their men at arms. And as a result, Daeron Stark had dispatched some 500 men under the leadership of Steffon Cassel south toe Castle Cerwyn, and the young man had managed to kill both Devan Condon and Garen Tallhart and their heirs and had forced their forces to submit and had as a result freed Castle Cerwyn, and had then proceeded to march west to deal with the siege of Deepwood Motte.

Horras knew that Berrick Ryswell was marching north with his men and the men of House Stout to assist Matthew Forrester, Horras could only hope that they would be successful. Daeron Stark was marching- he was perhaps a day's ride away from the Dreadfort now- marching with some of the strength of Winterfell, Last Hearth, Hornwood, and Karhold behind him. Horras only had his own men and that of House Lake and House Flint of Widow's Watch with at the Dreadfort. A fierce battle or battles would be fought within the next few days he could feel it. It was just a case of waiting and watching.

Horras waited for five days, before with the rain slowing down and beginning to die the first sighting of the grey dragon and direwolf banner of House Stark of Winterfell was sighted. His hands shook with nerves, as he put his armour on and he mounted his horse. The Weeping Water was close to full, the rain and the dark sky seemed like a sign from the old gods of things to come. He looked around the field where he and his men and those of House Lake and House Flint of Widow's Watch were, and saw their banners floating by in the air, he saw his son and heir Jonor mounted his axe in hand, he saw his son Domeric mounted sword in hand, and he felt reassured. He drew his sword from his sheath and raised it high into the air, just as the Stark king blew his war horn. The fighting had begun.


	11. 11th Hour

**Gorne Magnar**

The waves lapped around the shore, as Gorne Magnar, Magnar of Skagos, stood on the edge and looked out and saw. He had done what no Magnar had done for thousands of years had done, and had rebelled against the might of Winterfell. It was for the best that was what he believed, Winterfell had broken away from the Iron Throne, and had put the north through war, why should Skagos not benefit from this independence and fight for its own freedom?

Bolton had written to him some time ago, expressing a desire to work together to end the Starks hold on the north. Gorne had been interested then, with the Bolton's rebelling, alongside several other northern houses on the mainland, that would give Winterfell enough of a headache to not be able to effectively deal with a rebellion in Skagos, a break for freedom could be made. Now all he had to do was drum up support amongst the chieftains and other lords on the island.

That as it had turned out had been easier than expected. Houses Crowl and Stane had been more than willing to rebel against Winterfell, and had been willing to make a break for independence. Though Gorne had been expecting that on some basic level, what with Sigorn Cowl being his brother by marriage, and Alys Stane being his sister by marriage. The chieftains had been much harder to convince. Each had questioned why they should not be the ones to lead Skagos into the freedom and independence that Gorne spoke of. Some of the chieftains had rebelled against his authority, and so a battle had broken out in Skagos, a civil war within the island before Gorne could truly plan for a full scale rebellion.

The fighting though short had been fierce, and had resulted in many deaths for the chieftains, though once the leader of the rebellious chieftains had been slain, Gorne had earnt the clans respect, and so the planning for the rebellion could go on. The arming of the clans and the soldiers began first in secret, and then once Lord Horras wrote to Gorne saying that the rebellion had the full support of the Iron Throne it began in earnest, in the open, the call to arms rang throughout Skagos, and the shouts of freedom began.

Gorne though did not particularly care what happened on the main land, as far as he cared, Daeron Stark could exterminate the Boltons, or the Boltons could exterminate the Starks, so long as either side became too weak to deal with an independent Skagos by the end of their own conflict, that would be the ideal situation for Gorne. He did not want to support the Targaryens attempt to recapture the north for the Iron Throne, oh no, he wanted independence and he wanted it through his own efforts, he would not be handed it on a plate, no he would fight for freedom, he would do it the old way, the Targaryens and their incest born spawn be damned.

Looking back on the planning now, Gorne realised that in his haste to fight for his freedom in the old way, to prove himself worthy of becoming the king of Skagos, he had underestimated Winterfell's true power. Back when Skagos had last had a king, Moat Cailin had been a desolate ruin, Winterfell had just finished dealing with a Bolton rebellion, and had a child for a king. This time the situation could not be more different. Moat Cailin was a stronghold once more, the Starks had the Iron Islands and a sizeable fleet of their own. They had greater man power now than they did those thousands of years ago. As Gorne watched his island burn, as he saw the ships of the Starks burn their way through his peoples little fishing boats, and saw the men drown, he felt a sense of dread and foreboding creep across him like winters own icy hand.

He moved away from the edge and drew his sword, he was determined that if was to die today; he would die with his sword in hand, like a true warrior, like a true Skagosi. He drew his sword and let loose a terrifying battle cry and ran down from the edge and began cutting his way through the men from Winterfell who would suppress his people.

He hacked and slashed his way through men bearing the merman of House Manderly, bloodying his sword and making his own sing with joy at being free from worries for the moment. This was what he was born to do, fighting and killing, not the politicking of the main land. He hacked and slashed, ducked and dodged, and gutted more and more men, littering the ground with bodies, and blood, the ground drank the blood greedily, and still Gorne went on. Hacking and slashing his way through the men who would prevent his island from being free.

He hacked and slashed, and hacked and slashed, and cut and gutted his way through so many men, he had begun to lose count when suddenly he came across a man with the grey direwolf over grey castle on a field of white that pointed him out as a Stark of Moat Cailin. Gorne let loose a battle cry and charged forward swinging his sword. The other man raised his sword, and they met in a clash of steel. Sparks flew by, and still the two men pushed against each other, their swords clanging and screeching around them. When they broke apart, more sparks flew, but then Gorne with the battle lust on him, swung his sword in a wide arc, and managed to get past the other man's upraised sword, and when he felt his sword strike the man's chest and saw the dent that his sword had made, he gave a lecherous grin underneath his helmet.

Gorne did not relent on his attack, not with the battle lust on him, he swung again and again at the Stark. Sometimes his blows would strike true and would dent the man's armour, sometimes the man would be able to block his sword swings, other times Gorne hit the man's helm and heard the sickening crunch of bone being crushed. Still he kept going, there was not ending to it, not now, no he kept swinging his sword, and by the time he pulled back to catch his breath the Stark looked a state, his armour was dented in several places, blood was pouring out from some of the dents, and from the hits Gorne had dealt to his helmet.

The man gave as good as he got though, and soon Gorne found himself on the defensive. The Stark swung his sword like a pro, like a man who had fought in several battles, not just the one. He swung and slashed and hacked, and Gorne found himself on the back foot, raising his sword so many times to block swings that his arms were beginning to hurt, and he wondered when the assault would end. Not for a long time it appeared. For the Stark kept swinging his sword, and Gorne was becoming lax with his tiredness, he felt the man's sword strike him in the arms, shoulders, chest, legs even on the helmet. So that when he began feeling blood pour out of the dents that the Stark had made, he knew that serious wounds must have been dealt to him. They were even now.

Still Gorne would not give up without more of a fight. Staggering toward the Stark, he drew his sword forward and raised it high into the air, and brought down but was met half way by Stark's sword, the screech of steel on steel echoed in Gorne's ears. Still he pushed on, using all of his strength to try and force the Stark to relent, it did not seem to be working, and so Gorne broke off and then began a series of jabs and cuts and hacks that seemed to weaken the Stark, making the man's movements much slower. When Gorne pulled back to catch his breath, the Stark did not follow him as he had done the first time they had engaged in blows, instead he hovered slowly and unsteadily on his feet, blood beginning to pour down from his helmet, from the many dents to his armour.

The Stark had guts though, Gorne would give him that much. Despite being heavily wounded and close to death, the man managed to stagger forward, sword raised and managed to deliver a series of quick jabs and cuts that had Gorne back on the back foot, defending himself. The assault, short though it was, was enough to have Gorne bleeding heavily once it was done. Stark had piled him with cuts, jabs, swings, slashes and hacks, some of which found their mark and dented Gorne's armour even further, some of which managed to break his armour and open up fresh wounds and draw blood. Still Stark was failing, when he felt to his knees; Gorne kicked the man's sword out of his hands, and then pointed his own sword at the man's throat. Saying a quick prayer to the old gods, Gorne removed the man's helmet and then raised his sword and brought it down in one single arc, cleaving Stark in two. Blood spattered Gorne's already heavily bloodied armour, but he did not care, that was one less Stark in the world.

Much later as he sat inside his tent with a man tending to his wounds, he heard one of his men give him the report of how things had been going. "The Starks burnt most of our boats Your Grace. The Hundreds of men in the boats died. Sigorn Cowl and his sons were all killed. Alys Stane and her brood are dead."

Gorne heard the words, but did not take them in. The rebellion, that he had instigated was failing, he could not bear to think about it not now. And so instead he asked the question that had been plaguing his thoughts since morning. "Who was that Stark that I killed? Was it Artos Stark?"

The man looked hesitant. "No Your Grace, it was his eldest son Brandon Stark."

Gorne sighed. It looked like this war would go on for some more time.

* * *

**High Steward Artos Stark**

"Skagos has rebelled; Gorne Magnar has called the banners." Artos still remembered hearing his nephew- his king now- utter those words, and he still remembered the sense of dread and nerves that had engulfed him them. The Last time Skagos had rebelled against Winterfell had been thousands of years ago, when Karlon Stark had been sent to put down their rebellion and had been awarded Karhold as a result. The Skagosi were notoriously dangerous fighters, and cannibals to boot. The rebellion that Karlon Stark had put down, had cost him some thousands of men and his own son had died as well.

Artos had known when his nephew Daeron had uttered those words that he and Beron would be sent to deal with Skagos. What with that idiot Bolton having rebelled as well, Daeron would need to crush Bolton if he ever wanted to hope to have a secure hope of holding onto the North and the Crown of Winter. Artos and Beron had set sail from White Harbour, taking with them the Lord of White Harbour, the northern fleet and some 2000 men. The Ironborn were away raiding in Qarth, Quellon had gone there, saying he would bring back goods and riches for Daeron.

Artos and Beron had planned what their strategy would be for fighting the Skagosi whilst on the Grey Dragon- the Royal War Ship- Skagos had three main houses Magnar, Cowl and Stane and thousands of petty chieftains, who often warred with each other, their sources reported that Gorne Magnar had faced some difficulty in bringing all the chieftains into support him, but had after several skirmishes had managed to do so, though there were those who still wished to remain part of the north. The plan would be to send some of the ships to the Fingers to bring up more men, the rest of the royal fleet would assail Skagos, and with help from those clans that disliked Gorne, they would attack the Magnar in his castle atop the Grey Cliffs.

They had arrived at Skagos when summer had been in its dying days. Greeted by Davon Greybeard, a fierce warrior who had fought alongside Artos against Raymun Redbeard, Greybeard had led Artos and his men to the Red Cliffs where he and some 500 clansmen had made their base, and from there it was that Artos learnt that the Skagosi were more divided than had first been thought. Sigorn Cowl wanted to be king of Skagos, whilst Alys Stane simply wished for Gorne Magnar to die, but all three were related through blood or marriage, and all wanted their independence from Winterfell. The forces of Skagos were not gathered in one place, but different parts of the island, and each leader of these different parts of the army wanted some part of the glory, there was tension in Skagos alright, tension that Artos could use to his advantage.

The first fighting had taken place in the Black rocks near the Bay of Seals; men led by a chieftain called Aemon Battleaxe had fought Artos and his men. It had been a fierce battle; lots of men had died, including Battleaxe himself. Artos hacking and slashing his way through the Skagosi clan Battleaxe and their cohorts, had felt the familiar blood rush that often came with war and fighting, he had hacked one man's head clean off, and then had hacked another man's arms off, then cut and jabbed his way through the Skagosi until he came face to face with this Aemon Battleaxe. Battleaxe was a big beast of a man, with long flowing red hair and even redder beard. He wielded a great big axe, and fought like a brute. He had swung at Artos, Artos had managed to just about raise his sword to block the man's swing, and had then engaged in a fierce duel, the kind that he had last fought with Raymun Redbeard.

Hacking and slashing, cutting and jabbing, ducking and dodging. Doing all he could slow down big Battleaxe, for he remembered the lessons the old Berrick Cassel- Winterfell's old master at arms- had taught him and his brothers, "A giant may be big and be strong, but they tire easily, the bigger they are the harder they fall." He jabbed and cut at Battleaxe, provoking the man to swing his axe wildly, and sometimes Artos would even allow the man to strike his armour, leading him to believe that he was winning, when in fact the big brute of a man was tiring himself out. When the man had begun to struggle to lift his axe up, Artos bruised and bloody and jabbed left, then right, then had gone straight for the brute's heart, piercing through the light boiled armour the man had worn, killing him with one deep jab through to the heart. Battleaxe's men had either been slain or had bent the knee once they had learnt of their leader's death.

Next had come the fighting with another prominent clan chief who was leading Gorne Magnar's effort at the Red Cliffs was Bjorn Breakborn, with a name like that Artos had expected the man to be as big, if not bigger than Aemon Battleaxe had been, but when they had arrived at the Red Cliffs, they had found themselves greeted by the sight of a dozen bodies hanging from the tree branches. Red crosses on their bodies, no one knew who could have done the deed but the message was clear, they would rather die than be part of the North again. Artos did not mind for that was one less battle he and his men had to fight.

Then had come the autumn rains, and that had halted their progress. The Skagosi rebels, hid behind their castles, or their cliffs, or their huts and came out at night, and plundered and killed Artos's men, and took their armour and weapons and food. Waking up in the morning to find, men dead, their throats slit, their armour gone, reminded Artos horribly of the description that his brother Willam had given him, whenever he spoke of the conquest of Dorne, and the haunted look he would get in his eyes, was the same look that was reflected in many of Artos's men. They no longer thought they were fighting men or savages, but ghosts, and cannibals. Artos prayed each day for the skies to clear, for them to able to march to deal with the Magnar, but each night they went to sleep never knowing whether they would ever wake up again, or not. More often than not, they would wake to find one of their men dead, his throat torn open, or a man missing only to find him later that day, with large chunks of his skin torn out, eaten by the savages.

Eventually the rain had cleared enough to allow them to continue marching, and so they had. The fighting continued to rage on, bitter and fierce. Artos and his son Brandon were in the thick of it, fighting the savages and killing many by the tens, then by the hundreds. Hacking, stabbing, slashing, cutting and jabbing, men had fallen like flies. Blood had spattered to the ground, covering it and the ground had drunk it in greedily. Men had died, women and children who had been caught in the crossfire of the battle had also died. No one was spared. Sigorn Cowl, the fool that he was, had come riding out from his castle, when Artos and his men had pushed close toward the man's boundaries. Riding a unicorn of all things, the man had cut down Artos's men left, right and centre. But once Artos had killed the unicorn, the man was as bad a swordsman as any man Artos had ever fought. Hacking and slashing, cutting and jabbing, all these things Sigorn Cowl had tried to do, but had failed to even scratch Artos, had failed to even reach Artos. Artos had cut and slashed, and within three blows, Sigorn Cowl was dead, a sword through his throat.

Brandon had done in for his sons, swords through the throats for them as well. The rest of Artos's men had butchered Cowl's men, it was a true butchery, and not one of the soldiers who had fought for Cowl was left alive, once Artos and his men were done. House Cowl was put to extinction that day, the same day the rains came back. With the rains came more night time deaths, and more proof of the cannibalistic nature of some of the Skagosi. The nightmare continued, as the rains continued, more and more of his men were dying, and it still seemed as if Gorne Magnar would not give up. There had been no word from Beron since he had set sail to bring more men from the Fingers, but with the weather being the way it was, Artos was not too optimistic.

His only hope was that, the Targaryens did not send any help to the Skagosi, and that his men did not die out before they could mount a challenge for the Grey Cliffs, for the Cliffs as Greybeard had told them, the Grey Cliffs were the symbol of power in Skagos, if they controlled them, they would get the island to bend the knee. Though, after the rain came the autumn storms, their food was beginning to deplete, the men's moral was weaken. Artos knew that they needed to get marching; otherwise the effort would be lost.

Two moons after the storms began, they broke, and they marched for the Grey Cliffs, with a severly depleted force of men. Some of the Skagosi that had come over to their side had been killed for traitors during the night, they bodies savaged by their kinsmen who still fought for the Magnar, most of the men Artos had brought with him had been killed either in battle or in the night by the savages. Still they arrived at the foot of the Grey Cliffs, battered and tired and ready for home, still they stood strong, and they fought with the Magnar's men. Some 2000 men from House Magnar and their levies, plus another 100 clansmen fought for Gorne Magnar, against Artos and his 500 northmen and some 50 clansmen, they should have been butchered where they stood, but the Skagosi fighting for Gorne Magnar were not battle hardened men, nor where they particularly disciplined.

Artos and his men fought a long hard battle, just as the rain began to fall again. Against the men of Magnar and their unicorns they fought, hacking, slashing, jabbing and cutting. Blood and bodies littered the ground, and still the men fought on, even as their numbers began to deplete they fought on, even as it looked like all would be lost, they fought on. At some point during the battle, Artos was separated from his son Brandon, and as he took sword wounds to the chest and arms and legs he began to see his vision fade, he began to hope that Brandon would make it out alive. He felt himself fall to the ground, his head jarring sharply against the blood and body stained ground, he saw his vision begin to shake, the battle was lost, the war was done, they could not survive, not for much longer. Around him the battle still raged, men were fighting oblivious to the truth that had become so apparent to Artos Stark as he lay there in the dirt, bleeding from multiple wounds, men died screaming for their mothers, and yet battle still raged. Just as he closed his eyes, he heard a battle cry go up from somewhere far away that sounded surprisingly like his brother Beron.

Artos Stark awoke in the dead of night, in his tent, the storms had come again. He tried to get up but winced with pain, and fell back down to bed. "Ah so your awake then. Good." Artos heard his brother Beron's sarcastic tone.

"What happened?" Artos asked.

"Well, we managed to defeat the bastards if that's what you're wondering." Beron said.

"Gorne Magnar what happened to him?" Artos asked.

Beron seemed to hesitate and then said "He still lives, he fought Brandon and killed him. He fled when he realised who I was."

Artos took a deep shuddering breath. Brandon dead, his eldest son, his little boy dead. He felt anger pool up in the pit of his stomach then, he would have his revenge, and he would. "How many men did you bring Beron?"

"Four hundred brother. Lord Sunderland was most generous, though he did tell me some disturbing news."

Artos felt his gut clench, had something happened to Daeron? If so they were lost. "What happened brother?"

"The Falseborn has sent 1,000 men north under command of our king's cousin Ser Jon Waters to try and take Moat Cailin, the bastard has help from the Flint's of Flint's Finger. Moat Cailin is under siege."

Artos felt his gut clench, his sons Benjen and Edwyle were at Moat Cailin, those Targaryen bastards had dared strike now, had they no honour, no sense of right or wrong. This whole rebellion reeked of that kinslayer. "Any news from the mainland Beron, how is Daeron doing?"

He heard his younger brother swallow. "Deepwood Motte is under siege, Ryswells and Tallharts. The Mormonts have been unable to sail to help the Glovers, Stony Shore has fallen Lord Glover is dead. Steffon Cassel is leading the effort to lift the siege, he helped retake Castle Cerwyn. No news about how the fight against that idiot Bolton is going though."

Artos sighed, Deepwood Motte under siege, with no Ironborn there to help, it could take a long time. This war in Skagos had already taken the better part of three years. "We must kill the Magnar, how many men does he have left?"

"200. Most of his men either died or bent the knee when we arrived. His sons are dead, only a little babe at the breast and a daughter remain to his line." Beron replied.

"Good, now leave me I must rest." Artos said before he closed his eyes.

It took him a whole moon to recover from his wounds, a moon in which more skirmishes occurred and more Skagosi and northmen died a moon in which the remaining clan chiefs reswore their allegiance to Winterfell and to Daeron, a moon in which they learnt of the fall of Qarth and the death of Quellon Greyjoy. A moon in which Artos allowed his anger and his desire to get revenge build up, so that when he was fully fit and ready to fight, he would be at his best.

The battle was long and fierce and lasted many a day. Much blood was spilt; more men left this world to join the old gods in the trees. But Artos fought on with a savagery he had not felt since he had fought Raymun Redbeard all those years ago. He fought and fought and fought, and never once did he put his sword down, not to rest, not to sleep ever. He kept on fighting, and with each life he ended he could feel himself getting closer to ending Gorne Magnar's life.

Eventually that day came. They fought each other on the edge of the Grey Cliff, Artos Stark and Gorne Magnar, one wielding a sword the other a Morningstar. And so they fought, hacking, cutting, jabbing, stabbing, slashing, dodging, weaving and ducking. They fought, denting and cutting and bleeding, until both men were exhausted from the effort, until both men were covered with scratches and bruises and blood. Artos Stark knocked his opponent's sword from his hand and in one swift motion pushed his own sword through the man's heart, ending the Magnar's life. But then he felt the exhaustion and the blood loss get to him, and he fell to his knees before the man whose life he had just ended and collapsed into a heap of blood and bone and steel. Artos Stark, the implacable, the able High Steward of the North, Lord of Moat Cailin, was dead.

* * *

**Lord Commander Theon Stark**

Summer had died, autumn was king now. The leaves had fallen from the trees, the godswood and the weirwood were crying tears of blood, and treachery had come to pass. The Boltons had declared that they were free from the Kingdom of Winter, and as such had raised a host at the Dreadfort, and had called upon minor houses to rebel with them. Stony Shore had fallen, Deepwood Motte was under siege, the Mormonts were unable to come to assist the Glovers, though Steffon Cassel was proving himself an able warrior and commander, having taken back Castle Cerwyn from the Condons, had freed the Dustins from those forces of the Ryswells and Stouts who had laid siege to Barrow Hall. Cassel was marching west to lift the siege of Deepwood Motte.

The eastern side of the conflict was just beginning, the Weeping Water was full of bodies from the night before's conflict. Still the battle raged on. Theon looked around the battlefield from where he sat atop Starfall his golden stallion, protection his brother King Daeron Stark. The battle raged around them, men were fighting and killing and dying, and screaming for their mothers, for anyone to hold back the pain. "We ride now Theon." Theon heard his brother say in his deep Kingly voice. Theon spurred Starfall on and rode, he saw where and why his brother had wanted to move now, there ahead of them were the Boltons- Horras the lord, Jonothor his heir and Domeric the second son- killing all three would end the rebellion.

They met in a clash of steel, and Theon felt his blood sing with the meeting of sword on sword. He swung at Domeric Bolton, and felt his sword connect with the man's armour, Bolton swung back at him, but Theon managed to get his shield up in time to block the blow. They exchanged blows, back and forth, till both of their armour were dented and they were covered in blood, and bruises. Domeric Bolton turned his horse around and rode back toward the Dreadfort, Theon was about to give chase when he saw Bolton's youngest brother Edrick advancing toward him, a mace in hand. Theon swung hard as did Edrick, and their weapons met in a clang of steel and metal. Sparks flew past both men, but still they kept going, hacking here, slashing there, cutting right, and jabbing left. Neither man was willing to give ground, both men were covered in blood and sweat and dirt, when eventually Theon managed to break through Edrick's defences and shoved his sword through Edrick's gut, when he pulled his sword out, his sword was covered in blood, and Edrick had fallen off of his horse and was bleeding profusely on the ground.

Theon looked around and saw his brother engaged in a fierce battle with Horras Bolton, his nephew Aemon fighting in a fierce duel with Jonothor Bolton, Theon was glad to see Jeyne Mormont and Strongaxe were near Daeron, thus allowing Theon to go on and fight more of the traitors who would think to attack his brother when he was otherwise preoccupied. Theon hacked and cut a bloody path through the Bolton soldiers and those of House Lake, hacking and slashing his way through, till he came face to face with Lord Mors Lake. Theon swung at the man, and found that he connected with the man's armour, piercing it and killing the man instantly. He rode on and cut down Lord Lake's son and heir, a sword through the throat. He rode on and cut down more and more men with the flayed man of House Bolton on their armour.

Suddenly he found himself with no more foes to fight, wondering what had happened he turned round in his saddle and saw them all fleeing back to the Dreadfort, somewhere in the distance he heard his brother Cregan shout at him to kill as many of them as he could. Theon did as requested, cutting down as many men with the flayed man of House Bolton and the sigil of House Lake and House Forrester as he could. He had counted forty men dead when he was knocked from his horse, and knocked unconscious.

He came to inside a tent, his head pounding; he looked up and saw his brothers looking over him concerned expressions on their faces. "Don't ever do anything like that again you idiot Theon do you hear me!" Daeron said anger laced in his voice.

Theon was about to protest, when Daeron spoke again. "You're lucky that you managed to kill so many of that traitor Bolton's commanders in your mad dash for glory, otherwise I'd have had you striped of your grey cloak."

Theon was surprised; he'd managed to kill commanders?! Before he could voice his thoughts though, Cregan spoke. "What will you do now brother? Bolton has surrendered, his heir is dead but Domeric has escaped."

Theon was surprised; they had been fighting for many years now, had it been three since he'd last seen Winterfell and its grey stone walls? They had laid siege to the Dreadfort for two years before Horras Bolton had finally come out and fought. Theon was about to ask what had happened to make Bolton surrender when his nephew Aemon spoke. "Uncle Daeron, the traitor Bolton is out on the block as you asked." Theon saw his brother nod in acknowledgement.

Then heard him say "Bolton will be executed, I will not have him survive, his son Jonothor is dead, his son Domeric is a hunted man, let the bastard go to King's Landing, he will never be welcome in the north again. House Bolton is dead in the north. The Dreadfort is yours Cregan, for you and Elena and your children and descendants. With Skagos brought back to the fold, Uncle Beron will be coming back to Winterfell soon. Steffon should bring those idiots Ryswell and Stout back into line. Theon will go and lift the siege at Moat Cailin, and help Edwyle deal with those Flint's in Flint's Finger."

With that Daeron walked out of the tent, and Cregan helped Theon get dressed into his clothes and armour in silence, though before they left the tent Theon could not resist the urge to crack a joke. "So you've been given the Dreadfort eh Cregan. House Stark of the Dreadfort, doesn't have the same ring to it as House Dreadstark does it now?"

His brother said nothing, but Theon saw him crack a grin. As they walked and stood beside their brother and King. Daeron looked imposing in his dark blue armour, the crown of winter on top of his head. "Horras Bolton, for rebelling against your king, for breaking your oath of fealty, for inciting other houses to rebel with you, for attempting to kill my nephew, my sister, for conspiring with the Targaryens for the detriment of the north, I Daeron of House Stark, first of my name, King of the North, King of Winter, King of the First Men, and Protector of the Faith, do sentence you to die." Theon saw his brother raise Ice high into the air, and bring it down in one smooth motion, removing Bolton's head in one clean stroke. The rebellion was over. But Theon's head was still spinning from all he had learnt.


	12. Liberate

**Steffon Cassel**

Autumn had come to the north, and with it had come war and rebellion and treason. Horras Bolton, a man who had a fearsome reputation in the north had rebelled against King Daeron Stark, and with him, several minor houses in the north had rebelled against the authority of Winterfell. King Daeron had called the banners of those houses still loyal to Winterfell, and had sent some 2000 men with his uncles Artos and Beron to Skagos to deal with the rebellion there, he had then marched with some 5,000 men to the Dreadfort to fight and end Horras Bolton and his line, and the rest of the men had been given to Steffon to lead. A great honour for the young man, who at two and twenty was already the head of House Cassel, a house that had served House Stark loyally for thousands of years since its founding long before the dragons had come to Westeros.

Steffon had quickly learnt that it was greed that had encouraged most of the minor houses to rebel alongside the Boltons, no sense of injustice or frustration with Winterfell, just plain greed. The houses that rebelled were minor houses, and from what Steffon had been able to garner from Rodrik Condon when Steffon had questioned him, these minor houses and their lords had been promised a great many riches by both Horras Bolton and the Targaryens should the rebellion end successfully for them. Condon was dead now though, his head mounted on a spike in Castle Cerwyn, his army broken and defeated. His line put to extinction, no children left, they had all been grown sons, his wife had joined the Silent Sisters, and his brother had been slain.

This rebellion was Steffon's first true taste of war, he had been too young to march south when King Daeron had called the banners, his father and brother had gone south though, and they had not returned. Their bodies were buried in cairns somewhere in the south. Steffon's mother had died from a broken heart a few years after the Blackfyre rebellion, se had not been the same since the raven had come announcing in Daeron Stark's hand that Steffon's father and brother had died fighting for a cause they had believed in, and that their deaths would be avenged one day.

For Steffon that time had come, the rebels were fighting for the Targaryens, they had broken their sworn oaths to their king, and Steffon would have his revenge, he would have his justice. At Castle Cerwyn the battle had been bloody and fierce, many men had died that day, even more had made a name for themselves. Steffon knew that he himself had fought like a man possessed, hacking and slashing, and cutting his way through the throngs of soldiers that had stood in his path, till he had come face to face with Rodrik Condon. The two of them had fought a fierce duel, slashing and parrying each other like men fighting for their lives- they were- until Steffon had disarmed Condon, and then had had him questioned before executing him. The man's sons and brother had all been dead by that point, his line had ended with him, Castle Cerwyn was free again, and Condon's keep would be given to a more loyal and deserving house at the end of this rebellion.

Steffon had received word from Winterfell that he was to go to Deepwood Motte and lift the siege there. Ryswell and Tallhart men had the castle under siege, a fierce battle had been fought at Stony Shore before the siege had taken place, and it had cost the lives of the whole of the Stout army and Lord Glover. The Mormonts were unable to get across to help the Glovers due to harsh weather conditions at sea and with the Ironborn away in Qarth, it had fallen to Steffon to lead a full on assault. They had come across an army led by Torrhen Slate that intercepted their march toward Deepwood Motte, and a battle had occurred. There had been much hacking, slashing, cutting and jabbing and at the end of the battle, Slate was dead and his men were either dead or had bent the knee.

After that all they had to contend with before they marched toward Deepwood Motte was the weather, which it seemed to Steffon was doing its hardest to try and ensure that they did not make it to Deepwood Motte. The skies opened up more than once, and gave way to torrential downpours and sleet and even at one point light snow began to fall. Some of his men took it as a sign from the Old Gods that perhaps Deepwood Motte would fall before they could get there in time, Steffon however, did not. King Daeron was the one true king of the North, the king the north needed now, the Old Gods would not deny their vassal his kingdom. And so they pushed on.

Finally after two weeks of solid marching they had reached Deepwood Motte, and they had found the castle surrounded by tents, each with the sigil of the rebel and traitorous houses on them. Word had reached Steffon as he had marched through the rain that the Dreadfort had surrendered after a long siege, three years it had been since the rebellion had begun, skirmishes a plenty Steffon had fought in since then, and now they were so close to ending this damned rebellion but it appeared Matthew Forrester was not.

It came down to battle. Steffon and his men, tired and exhausted from three years of fighting, formed up in their positions, hardened by the experiences of war, and against a foe that after the initial fighting of Stony Shore had simply sat on their laurels for three years whilst the people in Deepwood Motte starved. That was an injustice that Steffon would make them pay for. And so the battle began. Steffon drew his sword and yelled the commands for his men to begin the fighting. Swords were drawn and the charge began a clash of steel on steel. Hacking, slashing, cutting, jabbing, doing all they could to stay alive, Steffon fought and cut his way through the men.

His sword was bloodied, and still he fought, ducking, dodging, surviving, living, breathing, he fought and fought and fought. He littered the ground with bodies, painted his sword red with blood, the blood of northmen. His anger only increased the more men he killed, the dragons had brought this to the north, and they had turned good honest men into traitors, for their pride had been stung during the Blackfyre war. Still he fought on; he fought for his home, for his family, for his king. He hacked and slashed and cut down men twice as old as him, but also men who were mere boys, green as grass.

Eventually the fighting stopped, those traitors threw down their swords, and the siege of Deepwood Motte was lifted. A cheer went up around the Wolfswood as the men heard that they had been victorious. Steffon rode up to the gates of the castle to be presented with a gaunt and almost skeleton looking Ethan Glover, the man who had held Deepwood Motte through the siege for three years. Steffon dismounted from his horse and greeted Ethan, like a long lost friend. "Lord Glover, it is good to see you, alive and well."

"You as well Master Cassel, I am no lord though, and I only did what I was instructed to do by our King." Glover replied, sounding older than his four and twenty years.

Steffon looked around the courtyard and not finding his sister or his nephews in the courtyard he began to feel nerves creep up into his system. "Where are Sybelle and Donnel and Rickon?"

Glover's eyes showed countless amounts of pain then when he looked at Steffon and Steffon felt his heart clench, and break. "We have not had food for the past year now, we have been living off the rats and dogs and cats. Sybelle and the children could not handle the break; Donnel died two moons past, Rickon three weeks ago, Sybelle last night. I am sorry Steffon."

Steffon felt his heart break, his sister and nephews were dead, he truly was alone now. He could not say anything for a few moments. But remained standing in the courtyard as his men brought forth Matthew Forrester the man responsible for the siege in the first place. Steffon glowered at the man as he was brought forth bounded and chained. "You rebelled against your king Forrester; you broke your oath of fealty, and for what? Many men, women and children have died because of your actions. For this you shall be sentenced to death, his grace King Daeron Stark shall execute you himself."

Forrester said nothing, and was taken away from the courtyard to the cells beneath the castle. Steffon still felt numb, even as he walked with his sister's goodbrother back into the castle, he did not listen to much of what his friend said, nor did they truly speak much. Steffon just felt numb, he had fought so hard to get to Deepwood Motte to free his sister and her sons, her husband had been killed at Stony Shore, and yet he had been too late, just as he had been too late to save mother from that bastard Domeric.

Eventually they entered the master's solar in the castle and both men sat down, tired and gaunt and hungry. As they waited for food to come, Ethan spoke once more. "What news of the rest of the war? Has his grace killed those damnable Boltons?"

Steffon swallowed once, and then said. "His Grace broke the Dreadfort, Horras and Jonothor Bolton is both dead. The bastard Domeric fled though, men report seeing him in White Harbour whilst Manderly was occupied in Skagos. Search parties have not found him nor his treacherous friends. Skagos has bent the knee; Gorne Magnar was slain, though Artos Stark is dead. Beron Stark has taken the new Magnar has a hostage back to the Wolf's Den."

Glover was about reply, when the maester of Deepwood Motte came bustling through. "I am very sorry to disturb you Master Ethan, but a raven has just come from Winterfell."

Steffon read the letter alongside Ethan and felt his heart drop once more, they were being ordered to Moat Cailin to help lift the siege there. The war would not end, damn those Targaryens and their cursed pride.

* * *

**Edwyle**

_"The Targaryens think they can just march north and starve us out, even though we are a free people now? No, I shall not let this happen. Father has taken Skagos, though Brandon is dead, cousin Daeron has taken the Dreadfort, we have ended this rebellion, we must end this now. Waters won't know what has hit him!" Benjen had said fiercely._

_"You can't be serious Benjen," Melissa had said her voice laced with anger and incredulity. "We have very little food and the garrison is beginning to lose hope, with father injured and Brandon dead, should you go out there and challenge Waters to a fight, and lose we shall be lost, and they will surrender this castle to the Targaryens and all of our heads shall be on spikes. No let them starve themselves out there, Waters is getting bored of waiting for us to surrender, he will do something rash and then we can strike."_

_Benjen had pulled a face then, and had replied in a cold voice. "I will not sit here and let that bastard feast himself to an early grave, whilst our people starve. The Targaryens want us to bend the knee, but we shall not, we shall never bend the knee to those incestuous bastards. They killed cousin Daemon, for nothing more than he had the true claim, they want Daeron dead because, he had the guts to stand up to them, and they tried to kill Barbery and Aemon because they love each other. No so long as I live, Moat Cailin will never belong to the Targaryens. We are Starks and if I die, I want it to be with a sword in hand."_

_ That had been the end of that discussion, Benjen had stormed out of the room, then his face set in a hard stone like expression. Melissa had looked hopeless and as if she was about to cry. The next day Benjen had marched outside of the gates of Moat Cailin with the banner of both the royal winter banner and the banner of Moat Cailin, and had spoken with the man who was laying siege to their home, for the pretenders to the Iron Throne. Waters had expected the parley to be about the surrender that those southerners expected to happen, but instead Benjen had challenged the man to a duel._

_Edwyle had stood next to Melissa and their ring of guardsmen- who had had strict instructions that should anything go wrong in the duel, that they were to be helped back inside the castle and then taken north to Winterfell- they had held each other's hands, tension and nerves making both of them silent. Benjen had emerged then, dressed in silver plate and mail, the direwolf of House Stark of Moat Cailin embedded on his armour, his greatsword in his hand. Waters had emerged as well, dressed in black armour, the three headed dragon of his mother's house and the seahorse of his father's house combatant on his armour. Both men had advanced forward, and drawn their swords and the battle had begun._

_Benjen had swung first, missing Waters helmet by a whisker. Waters had brought his sword up but Benjen had managed to block the sword with his own. Both men had swung and blocked blows for what seemed like an age, before the first true blow was struck, Waters brought his sword up high and hit Benjen in the chin, drawing blood. Then the fight had passed in a blur of hacking, slashing, cutting, and jabbing, and before Edwyle knew what was happening, his brother and Waters were lying face down in the snow covered ground, their swords buried in the other, blood covering the ground spilling out from both men. Chaos had soon followed as Edwyle and his sister were escorted back into the castle and the gates were shut and the siege resumed. All the while Edwyle struggled to understand what had happened, his brothers were dead, he was the lord now, but he was not ready..._

Edwyle snapped out of his thoughts when he heard the sound of a horn being blown. He looked around to see where he was and remembering that he was in the courtyard, he finished putting on his armour and looked around for his sister and for his friend Jon Royce. Finding them he gestured for them both to come over, and once they were standing by his side he spoke. "Banners have been sighted north of here, Osrick reports that they fly the grey dragon and grey direwolf of Daeron, if so Theon has come to help us. Ser Odrick Arryn will not relent in the siege though. It has been six moons since Benjen died, we must end this siege now, Arryn must die, and then I will deal with the Flints."

Royce said nothing, though Melissa did. "You do not have to lead the charge brother, send someone else to." She was pleading with him, Edwyle felt his heart contract painfully at her words, after all they had been through over the past three years, he never wanted Melissa to feel pain at all, and he would kill the man who caused her pain. Still he had a job to do.

"I must Mel, its my duty as a Stark, father and Brandon led men in Skagos, Benjen led the defence here. I am a Stark and I will die before I let a Targaryen ever set foot in Moat Cailin or the north ever again without my leave. No I will end this siege or die trying." And so without further ado he put on his wolf helmet, and mounted his silver stallion and rode forth through the gates with his men. Cries of Stark and Edwyle echoing in the air.

It was as he had predicted the moment he went past the gates, his cousin Theon had come with men sent from the Dreadfort to lift the siege that had plagued them for three years. With him he had brought Steffon Cassel and some 12,000 men it seemed that the Targaryens would be in for a fight. Edwyle roared a primal battle cry and began the fighting once more. He hacked left, he slashed right, he cut in the centre, he fought and fought, the blood was high and he fought with a vengeance, for father, for Brandon, for Benjen, for Melissa he fought. He cared not whether the man in front of him bore the coat of the Targaryens or some other bastard southern house that was fighting for the red dragon, they would take all that was dear from him, and that he could not have and so he fought on.

On he fought, hacking and slashing, the battle madness had overtaken him. He would leave no man alive now, not if they fought for the red dragon, they had taken his loved ones from him, they would pay. Hacking and slashing, he painted the ground red with the bodies that he made litter the ground. Hacking and slashing, his sword was covered red, the fighting raged on. The cries of men, the screams of the dying, all those echoed in his ears and still he fought. Hacking, slashing, cutting, jabbing, dodging and weaving, he fought. He would win; avenge the wrongs done, no other way for justice.

On the battle raged, hacking, death was present fiercely today. After so long, fearing whether or not they would wake one day to find the gates broken down, Edwyle knew he had to have his vengeance now, right now. He cut his way through the men who stood in his way, looking for one man in particular. He slashed a man's throat open, he did not stop to watch the man bleed out, he simply moved on. On he went, cutting a bloody path through the men of the red dragon, his sword covered in blood, the ground littered with bodies and red blood.

And then he saw him, Torreg Flint, the man of the Flint of Flint Fingers, the traitors. "FLINT!" Edwyle bellowed, Flint turned round and when he saw Edwyle the coward bolted, spurring his horse onward to escape from Edwyle. "COWARD, COME FACE DEATH, LIKE A REAL MAN!" Edwyle bellowed once more, spurring his horse to catch up with the man. Cutting down those men who stood in his path, till he found himself cornering Flint. He charged at the man and swung striking the man on his chest plate, he swung again and again, each time hitting the man somewhere new, denting his armour and drawing blood until Flint no longer struggled, and still he swung his sword.

Till he felt someone pulling him off of Flint, he struggled but the man was bigger than he was, stronger too. "Ed that's enough. Ed stop he's dead."

Edwyle turned stopped struggling then and looked up to see himself looking at his cousin Theon Stark, Lord Commander of the Winter's Guard. Blood and dirt coated his cousin's armour, and yet Edwyle could not truly think on that, it was simply relief, that his cousin was here, that he wouldn't have to deal with the war anymore. "Did we win coz?" Edwyle said his words beginning to slur.

"Aye we did. Flint is dead, his son dead, his brothers dead. Arryn dead, the southerners fled the minute they realised Arryn was dead, though some tried to keep fighting, they got massacred as they fought, the cranongmen have killed some of those southern cravens who fled." Theon replied.

Edwyle felt a sharp pain in his side as he moved. "Why does my side feel like it's on fire coz?"

"Because you took so many wounds to the chest and the side you rode like a beast, but an idiot. Come you must rest now, we shall take later." His cousin replied. And soon Edwyle found him walking with his cousin's help back to the castle, where with the help of Melissa he was taken back to his chambers and where he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next few days were spent recovering and dealing with the ending of the siege. Many men and women and children had died during the siege, but Edwyle and his family had done their duty to their king. Moat Cailin had not fallen, the Targaryens had not had a chance to enter the north, nor would they try again. But Edwyle still had nightmares, of the pain and suffering he had seen, of his brother's death, his head on a spike for the world to see, of the men he had killed to live. Sometimes, his sister would have to sleep alongside him at night to make sure he did not delve to deep into the realms of darkness that so often threatened to overtake him now.

The Flints of Flint's Finger were all dead; there had been no females in their line. The house was finished. Edwyle was riding north to Winterfell today with his sister and his cousin to listen to Daeron speak of what would happen next to the north, with the rebellion crushed and the Boltons either dead or fled. Edwyle spent most of his time with Melissa, the siege had taught him the importance of family, they had lost so much of it during this god damned war and siege, that he was determined that he would never lose his sister, not for anyone.

The atmosphere in Winterfell as court was called, was electric, all the houses of the north seemed to be there, including those that had fought for the Boltons. There was tension alright, enough that some of the guards in the hall had to break up several fights that had broken out, and that was all before Daeron had entered the room. When he did, the whole hall went silent, and Daeron walked into the room with his wife and two children- Aegor now nine and Daena now four- the Winter's Guard followed close behind him. Daeron cut an imposing figure, though Edwyle saw the tiredness and weariness on his cousin's features, when Daeron sat on the weirwood throne, all sat down and then waited for their king to speak.

"A terrible thing has occurred. Rebellion based on false promises, and lies. The Targaryens promised many of you things that they had no intention of giving, that, the traitor Horras Bolton had no intention of giving you. But that is past now, war was fought, men and women and children have died because of one man's greed. Enough is enough. We shall have peace in the north now, the south can keep their wars and their petty feuds, we shall have peace. Those who do not wish peace leave now, but you shall not leave alive." Daeron said in a voice of iron, Edwyle felt the hairs on the back of his arm stand up on end, and he shivered. Melissa grasped his hand tightly.

Daeron went on. "Peace shall rule in the north. Those that rebelled with the traitor Horras Bolton shall be pardoned but shall be stripped of their rank and titles. They shall also henceforth give up one hostage each for good behaviour, should they break this peace, they and their child shall die," the silence was deafening. "Those that fought loyally and justly for the North shall be rewarded. Uncle Beron." Edwyle saw his uncle Beron step forward then with a roll of parchment.

"By order of His Grace Daeron Stark, King of the North and the Iron Islands, Lord of the First Men, and Protector of the Old and Drowned Gods, those that fought loyally for the Kingdom of Winter against the traitors' in House Bolton shall be rewarded. To Steffon of House Cassel, the Lordship of Stony Shore shall be awarded, as well as a great castle and port that shall be built using the money taken from the Dreadfort and other traitors. Steffon Cassel shall also marry his grace's youngest sister Lady Bethany Stark. To Ethan of House Glover, the lordship of Deepwood Motte is awarded as well as its lands and titles and incomes. To Jon Royce, for fighting faithfully and loyally with his graces cousins Benjen and Edwyle Stark, the lordship of Flint's Finger, from this day forth to be known as Shadow Point is given. As is with the acceptance of his grace's cousins Edwyle and Melissa Stark, the hand of Melissa Stark in marriage. "

Daeron got up and spoke then. "Finally, Edwyle. You fought through the odds and stuck out against those bastards. You held the Moat and the entrance through thick and thin. For this I give you the whole of the neck, and the lands up to Torrhen's Square."

With this the court session was ended and Edwyle left with his sister, still in a state of shock.


	13. The Dead Rise From The Shadow Of Lies

**Dagon**

Qarth, the so called greatest city that was and ever will be was a smoking ruin. It had been ripe for the taking, and so the Ironborn under Quellon Greyjoy, Lord Reaper of Pyke, had sailed across the sea to the underside of Essos, and they had with the permission of Dagon's cousin Daeron Stark, sacked the city. The conflict had been relatively bloody, a story for the ages, many men had made their names during the fighting and the sack, and many salt wives had been taken, conquest and legends had been made during the sack. But all was not as it seemed, Qarth had fought back hard, and the losses of the Ironborn had been many fold more than what they had expected, Dagon's father Quellon had been slain during the fighting, that the city had been ripe for the taking could not be denied, but that the Qartheens were unprepared was a lie, a lie that the maester at Pyke had forgotten to tell Dagon's father, and it was a like that would make the maester wish he had not been born.

Qarth's vast wealth was something that could be put to good use to help improve the kingdom of winter, and it would also help refill the coffers of the Ironborn which had been depleting over the years, what with their traditional practices of reaving having been outlawed since the time of Aegon the Dragon. Dagon's father had put these reasons forward, and even though at the time they began their invasion of Qarth he was eight and fifty, Quellon Greyjoy still deigned to lead the Ironborn into their invasion of Qarth. But of course Dagon had come to expect nothing less from his father. Ever since he had been old enough to understand, Dagon had grown up hearing the tales of how his father had always led from the front, whenever he had been given a mission to do by the King, be it the raiding of Dorne during the reign of the Conquest of Dorne. Dagon knew for a fact that, Dorne still trembled at the mere mention of his father's name, that his father was one of the most feared men and his ship The Royal Kraken, was one of the most feared ships in existence.

Dagon Greyjoy had grown up hearing the stories of his father's conquests, had grown up in his father's rather large and impressive shadow. His father, who was hailed as the greatest Lord Reaper of Pyke, since the Seven Kingdoms had become one, who was seen as the trusted man of the seas for both the Young Dragon and the Winter Dragon, Quellon Greyjoy was a hard man from a hard land, who dealt not with cravens and weaklings but with harsh words and harsher fists. Dagon could still remember sailing with his father during the Blackfyre rebellion, could still remember seeing his father in the thick of the action as they made Lannisport burn, as they put the Golden Lions into the shitter, as they destroyed the falseborn's hold on the West. He had seen the way his father had held the respect of his captains and crew, how he had never shied away from doing anything that would get his hands dirty, he had seen just how fierce a fighter his father truly was, and how skilled a leader his father was as well. It was something that Dagon had desperately tried to emulate as a child growing up, and something that he now needed to continue, if his next plans for the Ironborn were to be successful.

As Dagon watched the ships sail on the sea, he remembered a long ago conversation that he had had with his father once, after the battle of Lannisport. He had thought himself a true man then, having won much glory for himself, killing Damon Lannister's eldest son- Tytos- having fought against some of the best men in the West and in Westeros, and having matched them blow for blow. He had been high of off the battle, but then when he had come down he had the most horrible nightmares, the visions of Lannisport burning, of women and children, of grown men screaming and crying out for their loved ones who were more than likely, had haunted him, had made sleep nigh on impossible. His father had sat down with him, and had told him one thing and one thing only, "Never let the battle get to you son, fight as fiercely as I know you can, but never let the battle get to you. Otherwise you will never be free from demons." It was only one simple piece of advice but it was something that Dagon had kept close to his person in all the years since then.

It was that one piece of advice that had allowed Dagon to keep on fighting through the carnage that had been the conquest of the Summer Islands, which had once again been done to help supplement the Kingdom of Winter that conquest had occurred some two years ago now. Fierce fighting and much bloodshed had occurred and yet whilst others swept their sorrows under the rug with drink and women, Dagon watched his father fight through all the pain and horror and sorrow that such fighting brought about, and watched him continue to lead his men as if nothing else was going on. Dagon had often heard it said that his father was like an incarnation of the Drowned God fierce and proud, and that had never seemed more true than when he had watched his father fight during the taking of Qarth. Many men half his age had come up against him and all had been sent to the Drowned God's watery halls, all were dead and his father had moved onto the next opponent.

Still though Qarth had fallen to them, they had sustained many more casualties than they had been expecting including Quellon Greyjoy- who died like a true warrior- one of the many prisoners that Dagon had captured after the fighting had been done and the last of the merchant princes had been slain, had spoken of the plot to draw the Ironborn away from the mainland, so that a rebellion could be launched in the north by Horras Bolton- a slippery fellow if there ever was one- and Dagon had raged and raged when he had heard this. Their maester was a spy for that kingslaying abomination and had led them down a false root, giving them instruction as to where and how to take Qarth, but giving it in such a way that it had taken them much longer to arrive at the god damn city, than it should have done. Therefore giving the people of Qarth time to prepare for a long and drawn out fight, which of course cost both sides many lives, all so that that one eyed abomination could reap havoc in the north. Oh Dagon was angry alright, and he would have his revenge, but first he had had to think of his mother and his wife and family back home.

Due to his father's marriage to his mother Jeyne, Dagon was King Daeron Stark's cousin, and as such his loyalty would always be to Winterfell, as would his children's considering that he was married to his cousin- Daeron's sister- Velena. He had written to Pyke after his father's death and passing to inform his mother and family of it, and he knew that his mother would take the news hard. She and father had loved each other deeply; it was plain for all to see. Whilst father had been strict and tough with his children, Lady Jeyne had been caring and compassionate, the type of person that would always be there to look out for you and point you in the right direction should you go astray, Dagon knew that he had needed his mother's help on more than one occasion growing up. His father's death would hit her hard; it would hit the whole Iron Islands hard, especially as his death could have been avoided.

Velena, his beautiful wife, whom he had not seen in so long. She and he had been married for roughly twelve years now, and each day he was away from her was like a new wound was being opened inside of him. He missed her smiles, her laugh, he missed talking with her. And he missed their children, Rodrick, Theon, Bethany and Asha, he missed them and he could not wait to see them, but first he would have his revenge on the Greenlanders for plotting against him and his father.

The closer they got to land, the more ships that Dagon could see, signalling for his men to begin lighting the torches, Dagon walked back inside to his cabin to suit up. As he was putting on his armour, he heard the first torches begin to be thrown, and heard the resounding screams and cries from the Reachermen, he smiled a sly smile. The Reach would burn before the Targaryens could even bat an eyelid. Dagon put on his helmet and walked out toward the main part of his ship, drawing his sword. His men were already engaged in combat with the Reachermen, and it seemed that they had the better of it. Dagon swung his sword to his left, taking of a man's arm. He swung his sword to the right, and left a man short a head. He swung his sword again and again, cleaving a bloody path through the Reachermen, and painting the floor of his ship red with blood.

Walking across the ropes his men had attached, Dagon continued his onslaught. Swinging his sword like a mad man, hacking a man here, cleaving a man there, his sword cut through more bone and skin and flesh than he could ever remember it doing before. And yet all the time he was swinging his sword and killing men, he kept repeating the words his father had told him, on that day long ago in Lannisport. He kept swinging his sword, and cleaving is way through the Reachermen, but he did not truly see them, instead he thought of something else, something that would keep the nightmares at bay. Once all the men on the ship were dead, Dagon moved onto the next ship and began the process once again. The hacking and cleaving left his sword and armour covered in blood and dirt and salt from the sea, but inside his blood was singing, the true calling of the Ironborn.

Once the men who had come out to stop their advancement were all dead, Dagon made his way back to his ship and in a cold voice ordered the Reachermen ships burnt, and as he sailed on toward the port, the ships of the Reachermen burnt in the background. The chaos and destruction continued in the Arbor, as more men died by the Ironborn hands, justice was being served, and coffers and loot aplenty were taken. Their job done, Dagon ordered his men to set sail from the Arbor, there would be plenty more looting to be done soon.

The process repeated itself on the Shield Islands; the Greenlanders were more prepared this time though, having been warned of the impending attack. Still they were not match for a bloodthirsty horde of Ironborn, and their men died deaths on swords, morning stars, hammers and maces. Dagon himself led the charge that took control of the main keep on the Shield Islands, hacking and slashing his way through the men who stood in his path, bloodying his sword even more, and then when he came face to face with the Lord of the Shield Islands, his sword only needed three thrusts before the man was lying face down in a puddle of his own blood, death by sword. Dagon marched his men through the keep, instructing them to take what they could, to leave behind anything that would be too much of a hindrance to take back to Pyke.

* * *

**Baelor Breakspear**

Peace was a hard thing to come by, it was even harder to maintain. The proof of that was standing right in front of Baelor and the rest of the small council. Domeric Bolton, the second son of Horras Bolton, and as of now the current Lord of the Dreadfort. Bolton was a tall man with long brown hair and piercing grey eyes, he was also thickly built, and broad shoulders, a warrior if ever Baelor had seen one. After the failed rebellion in the north, which Baelor had always been strongly opposed to, the Boltons had all been executed their lands and incomes given to Daeron Stark's younger brother Cregan. Domeric Bolton had fled the execution though, fleeing in the dead of the night with six loyal men, forcing their way into White Harbour, and forcing a ship to take them to King's Landing they had appeared some two weeks past, battered, bruised and angry.

Brynden had engineered the northern rebellion, in the hopes of getting Stark out of the way and killing Aemon Blackfyre and any potential children the boy may have with Barbery Stark. Both had failed, the rebellions in Skagos and the rest of the north had been crushed, Aemon Blackfyre still lived, and now the Iron Throne had the increasing wrath of the North and the Iron Islands, for the attempted killing of Barbery Stark and her unborn child. Sometimes Baelor wondered what would have happened had Brynden and Daeron been different people, perhaps they may have actually been able to achieve some sort of stalemate. But then again he supposed with Bittersteel still alive in Tyrosh, peace would never be achieved.

"My family paid the price for following your orders Lord Brynden, what will we get in return for the folly that cost my father and brother and uncles their lives? How can you repay us, when the Stark has our home and our lands and has given them to his stubborn brother?" Baelor heard Domeric Bolton ask.

Baelor turned to look at Brynden who seemed to be quite tired, as did Baelor's own father, Daeron the Good seemed to be much more weary and tired since the war with Daemon had ended, and since Baelor's mother had died, something seemed to have been taken from him. Brynden replied. "You failed to oust Stark from power, your rebellion failed Lord Bolton. As such though, you have proved your loyalty to the Iron Throne and for that you do deserve to be rewarded. Your Grace?"

Baelor saw his father turn his eyes toward Domeric Bolton, and saw a mixture of anger and tiredness in his father's eyes, though for those who did not know his father well, they would not be able to see the difference. Baelor heard his father sigh once before he spoke. "Yes you do deserve to be rewarded Lord Domeric, I believe your mother was a Darklyn was she not?"

"Yes Your Grace she was." Domeric Bolton replied.

Baelor's father sighed once more. "Very well, you shall marry one of Lord Darklyn's daughters, and I shall award you the Lordship of Lord Harroway's Town for your efforts to the crown."

Baelor saw Domeric Bolton bow his head in acceptance, and then watched as he was escorted out of the small council chamber by Ser Roland Crakehall of the Kingsguard. Once Domeric was finally out of the room, Baelor heard his father sigh once more. "That man will cause us nothing but pain, I want him watched, Brynden since it was your idea to have this blasted rebellion in the north, and you will ensure that the man and his family are watched." Baelor's father said using his most kingly voice, the voice that could make grown make quake in their boots with fear.

It certainly seemed to be working with Baelor's uncle, for Baelor saw Brynden bow his head looking bashful, as he said. "Of course Your Grace."

Baelor saw his father nod his head once, and then that issue was dismissed. "What news from the north then?" Daeron the Good asked.

Brynden spoke once more. "Daeron Stark's wife is with child, as is Barbery Blackfyre."

Baelor heard the mutterings of the other lords in the small council, but kept his mouth shut. He knew what would be said next, and he wondered what his father would do this time, whether or not his father would take the moral high ground.

"Let them have their children, I will not have my people fight needlessly. So long as the maintain the peace I have no qualms. Jon died foolishly trying to take Moat Cailin; we lost many good men for that ridiculous attempt. We must rebuild relations with the north, if we are to ever have a lasting peace." Daeron said.

Baelor could see the protest about to form on his uncle's lips, but before his uncle could voice it his father cut him down. "No Brynden I will not call the Lords of Westeros to war once more, to march north and try and fail to end the Blackfyres. Too much blood has already been shed for this damned throne, peace is essential for making sure that there is no more need for pointless fighting. So long as Daeron wishes to keep peace, and he will, there is no need for us to mobilise our men. Aegor won't march across the sea unless he is confident he can have Daeron's support. Now what other issues are there for us to discuss?"

Baelor spoke then. "Dagon Greyjoy has been raiding along the coast of the Reach. Lord Luthor sends a request for help from the Iron Throne. Greyjoy has been plundering, he defeated and killed Lord Redwyne and plundered the wines from the Arbor, he holds the Shield Islands now."

"Write to Lord Damon, tell him to mobilise his ships, Dagon Greyjoy will wish to try and sail up the Mander if he becomes too daring. We shall need to deal with him before that happens. If it comes to it Baelor you may need to ride out to confront the man." Baelor heard his father say.

Baelor nodded in response. "Now if that is all my lords, I would ask that you leave and give myself and my son a chance to speak alone for a moment."

Once the lords of the small council had departed, Baelor saw his father visibly sag in his seat, a tired expression on his face; the effects of ruling truly seemed to be getting to him now.

"You may be ruling sooner than you think Baelor." Daeron Targaryen said, his voice no louder than a whisper.

Baelor was about to protest when his father raised one slender finger to silence him and continued speaking. "Grand Maester Orthorys tells me I have the wasting sickness, I do not have long left. We must make peace with Daeron Stark before I die though, that is something I must do, to atone for past wrongs, and otherwise Westeros will continue to bleed."


End file.
